


Hold Me Down

by Junesong



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Josh Lives, Justice for Josh, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, My Poor Baby Washington Deserves Better, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junesong/pseuds/Junesong
Summary: Samantha James is not a coward.So what if she has to face the horrors of Mt. Washington for the second time?So what if she has to do it all by her frayed, traumatized lonesome?So what if the mountain is inhabited by flesh-eating monstrosities eagerly awaiting their next Not-So-Happy Meal?She is not a coward. No, she is not.But she's scared shitless.





	1. Mourning Doves

Samantha James has never been to a funeral before.

Sure, there was that one time seven years ago when she found a dead bird on their porch and decided - much to her mother's chagrin - that she would bury it beneath their prized willow tree in the yard, effectively offending both her cat and her parents in the process.  
Her cat, because she had the nerve to deny him such a tasty little morsel, and her parents for having to live with the fact that there was a decaying corpse haunting their beautiful garden forevermore. 

This is nothing like that. Not even close.

She keeps her eyes locked on the grand tombstone that now resides in front of the plot of dirt covering a very expensive, very impersonal and  _very_ _empty coffin._

"Sam?" Mike calls her name softly, bringing her attention to a pair of beautiful brown eyes filled with gentle concern. He smiles, taking her hand and interlacing her slender fingers with his own. They're rough; weathered and scarred after venturing through the nightmarish planes of the Sanatorium, fighting off cannibalistic monsters and - oh yes - almost losing two digits to some freaky  _Jigsaw_ -trap.

She forces a smile back and gives his hand a small squeeze. 

"I'm fine."

"Sam..."

"I said  _I'm fine,_ Michael." 

He backs off, but she can tell she's hurt him. That seems to be all she does these days. That, and burrowing so far down in her sheets she could pretty much out-burrow any burrowing woodland creature in existence at this point.

She pinches her eyes shut and imagines herself underground. Six feet under, to be exact. On the dot. 

She imagines herself lying in that empty, extravagant coffin, listening to the dirt being thrown on the closed lid and the voices slowly fading away into nothingness.  
  
She imagines her parents in the place of the Washingtons, burying their only child in that expensive box of wood, as if the ridiculous price of the container could make up for the loss of a life that would never again grace this Earth. 

 _I wonder if they would find me as repulsing and unsightly as that bird,_ she thinks drily.  _I bet they would, somewhere in their minds. Their perfect little offspring reduced to nothing but meat and bones, good for nothing but fertilizer..._

Her morbid thought process is interrupted by the voice of the priest - a tall, forgettable organism more lifeless than anything below their feet - thanking everyone for coming and showing their support to the Washingtons in light of the tragic recent events. 

"Do you want to stay for a while?" Mike asks quietly, still eyeing her like he expects her to fall apart at any given moment. She's grateful for his presence - she _really_ is, especially considering he was the only one actually willing to show up - but his constant mothering is starting to get on her nerves. 

_I can't blame him. I really can't. He's just worried about me, and I need to appreciate that. Chewing him out won't do either one of us any good, and he's all I have now. It's not like he's being a worrywart just to annoy me, after all._

"Sam? Do you want to stay for a bit?" he repeats, a little louder this time. She nods silently, watching people leave through the gates like sheep being herded into a pen, and a tiny, cynical smile etches its way onto her lips.

"How much do you wanna wager the almighty Mr. Bobby Washington had to pay these lowlives for coming to his son's funeral?"

Mike looks at her, startled by the cold and distant tone in her voice. It's so...  _un-Sam-like,_ and she knows it. She knows it all too well. It's something Emily would say, and the last thing she wants is for anyone to compare her to  _Emily flippin' Davis._  But she can't help it. She doesn't feel even a tiny bit like herself these days. 

"Dunno?" Mike shrugs, observing the crowd thoughtfully. The slight tilt of his head and the intense look in his eyes gives the impression of him trying to solve an exceptionally difficult math problem. 

"For the gents in the front I'd bet a fifth of whiskey and a lifetime supply of fedoras." He grins when his joke earns him a snort of laughter.

" _Har-dy-har,_ Mike." She kneels down onto the loose dirt, tracing her fingertips slowly over the golden letters etched into the smooth, polished marble surface of the tombstone:

 

 **_Joshua Benjamin Washington_ **  
**_11/06/1995 - 14/09/2015_**  

 

"They didn't even bother with an epitaph," she whispers, mostly to herself. _Of course_ they didn't bother with a fucking epitaph. They didn't know their son at all.

Hell, she doesn't even know if  _she_ really knew him anymore. At least not as well as she thought she did.

She used to think she did. God, she thought... she thought she understood who he was, enough to feel like they had a real connection. She still feels that way, but the uncertainty is gnawing at her. Did she really understand Josh after all? In some ways he was always an enigma to her, but in other ways she felt like she _did_ know him. She did understand him, at least better than most - if not all. 

How could it be possible for someone to feel so close and yet so far away? So intimate but still so distant? 

"Hey, Mike?" she whispers, hazel eyes glued to the elegant golden cursive etched into the gorgeous black marble, still unable to really process what they're seeing.

She sees the letters. She reads them perfectly. Repeatedly. And still... _it's_ _his name._ It's not supposed to be there. It doesn't belong there. Not on a fucking grave marker! It's _wrong_. It's horribly, painfully, ridiculously  _wrong_ and _unfair_ and... She presses the palm of her hands against her eyelids - hard - as if trying to manually remove the image from her retinas. Maybe if she can do that, then... then it won't be real anymore.

 _God..._ She lets out a long, shuttering breath she didn't even know she was holding.  _God, Josh... why? You fucking asshole! Why'd you have to go and get yourself **killed** , huh? Why did you have to bring us all back there? Why? For a lousy _ _ **prank**? We could have helped you -  **I** could have helped you - and instead you chose to pull something so completely messed up just to screw with us and now you're  **dead**. _

She bites her lip and feels the sting of tears beginning to burn behind her eyelids.  _I will not cry. I will not cry. **I will. not. fucking. cry.**_

"Sam? Were you saying something?"

"Huh?" She looks at him, dark blonde eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"You, uh, you started saying something. You said my name, and, uh... well. My name. Mike. That's me," he jokes, tapping his index finger against his chest. "Michael Munroe, certified dreamboat and..." 

"Yeah, uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Prince Charming," Sam cuts him off and punches him lightly in the shoulder. He grabs it and gasps audibly, staggering backwards with a horrified expression etched onto his handsome features. "Milady, you  _wound_ me! My _pride!_ My fragile, delicate pride! However shall I recover?!" he wails dramatically. She rolls her eyes at his antics, but she does give him a tiny smirk before turning to face the tombstone again.

"I was just wondering..." she begins, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip before continuing. "Do you think anyone ever actually knew him? Josh? I mean... the  _real_ Josh. Hell, do you think even  _he_ knew who he really was?" 

"What do you mean?" Mike comes up behind her, peeking over her shoulder at the polished grave marker. 

"All the things he did to us. The..." she almost says  _torture,_ but the word feels wrong on her tongue. Josh never intended to torture them, did he? No. No, she refuses to believe that. He had thought of himself as a _healer_. Someone who - through twisted and fucked up means - brought people _together._ And in a weird, messed up sort of way he kinda did. 

"... the horror show," she finally says. "All that crap he did to Chris and Ashley, for starters. The whole... _haunted-house-basement-dungeon_ crap. Do you think anyone knew he was capable of that? I mean, I know he was completely obsessed with horror and gore and all kinds of dark shit, but..." she trails off, stealing a glance at her companion. 

"Do you think there's anything left at all?"

"Well, to be fair..." Mike says thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in contemplation. "The lodge _was_ pretty crispy by the time the rescuers came for us, and I don't know about you, but... I dunno... I mean, it's morbid as shit and everything, but..." he scratches his chin and looks off into the distance.

"What, Mike?" Sam prompts, still feeling the name of her best friend's older brother branded into her eyeballs like some kind of fucked up tattoo, all twisted and burning with regret and resentment.

"I feel like... all the work he put into those thingamajigs should at least be honored in some way, y'know?" Mike drags a hand through his dark hair, effectively ruining whatever hairstyle he decided was funeral-worthy.

 _Yeah. I **do** know. Never mind the fact that they were designed to torture, scare and emotionally demolish the living **shit** out of all of us - they were definitely really fucking brilliant. **You** were brilliant, Josh. And I fucking hate you for wasting your talent on something so twisted. I hate you for tormenting us and making us jump at imaginary shadows. I hate you for being indirectly responsible for Jessica and Matt almost dying in the mines. I hate you for taking my fucking clothes, for video taping me in the damn **bath** and stalking me through the entire fucking **house** in nothing but a tiny goddamned  **towel**. _ _I hate you for being **directly** responsible for **ALL OF US** almost dying in those godforsaken, horrible Tunnels of Death. I hate you for making me watch you fucking  **die.** But most of all, Joshua... most of all I hate you for actually being gone this time. _

"He would have made an amazing movie producer."

That's all. That's all she manages to say without crumbling into fifteen billion pieces right then and there. That's all she manages to choke out. So meaningless, so shallow and empty and unimportant. Just like the last words she ever said to Josh directly.

_'"Okay... Josh. Do you have the keys for the cable car?"_

" _Uh... y-yeah. Here."_

" _Oh, good."_

So damn meaningless. So useless. So casual. Nothing in those words indicated how much she cares for him, how important he was and still is to her. Only the brief touch of their hands - the tenderness in it, the lingering of Josh's hand in both of hers as she took the keys from his open palm... 

That small interaction spoke volumes. 

She smiles bitterly as she thinks of how he tried reaching out to her in the basement, about how she was too scared of her own feelings to answer in kind.

_"You know, Sam..."_

_"Yeees, Josh?"_

_"I just wanted to say... uh..."_

_"What?"_

_"It really means a lot to me that everyone came back this year, and y'know, that... **you** came, Sam."_

God. The butterflies in her stomach had threatened to burst through her skin at that moment, and she was torn between confessing to the uneasiness of being back at the lodge and reassuring him. She had paused for a moment, wanting so badly to say something,  _anything_ , that could confirm to him that she felt something special for him as well, but what decided to come spilling out of her stupid, cowardly mouth instead?

 _"Josh... We're here for you. Really. Whatever you need..."_ she swore she could see the disappointment in his large, green eyes and the way his face fell, and she wanted to take back the words, wanted so, so badly to rephrase them, but she continued just the same.

_"... whenever... We're all gonna make it through this. **Together**."_

But that didn't happen, did it? Somewhere on that hellish mountain, the body of Joshua Benjamin Washington - or whatever remains of it - lies cold and alone and abandoned in those horrible, horrible mines, and ' _together_ ' seems like a cruel joke now. 

She barely registers the gentle hand on her shoulder, but it still manages to pull her out of those painful, bittersweet memories tainted with grief and regret.

"Let's go home, Sam."

Home. It has a strange, unfamiliar ring to it. _Home?_ Home... Where is that? Ever since she came back from the mountain she hasn't really felt at home _anywhere_. Her blanket burrito continues to increase in size every other night, but no matter how tightly she bundles them around her lithe body, she still can't seem to stop losing herself to the dark, dank terrors of the mine. 

_Josh... I never should have left you._

With one last look at the tombstone with its cold, distant surface, she can't help but feel as empty and hollow as the casket underneath it. And in her mind, she etches the words of her own epitaph beneath the golden letters carved into the shiny, black marble.

 

 _So fly on_  
  
_Ride on through_  
  
_Maybe one day I'll fly next to you_  
  
_Fly on, ride on through_  
  
_Maybe one day I can fly with you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at how far we've come
> 
> Look at this mess we've made
> 
> I'm still praying that the sun 
> 
> tears my body from the shade
> 
> Tell me that we're too far gone
> 
> Tell me that we'll be okay
> 
> Swear to God I'd leave right now 
> 
> if Heaven wasn't so far away


	2. No Place Like Home

_Sammyyy... Sam-Sam-Sammy-bird? Sammy-Sam-Sammy-Sammy-Sam... Saaa-aaam..._

The voices echo out into the darkness of her cool bedroom, changing from Josh's teasing sing-song voice to the deep and distorted voice of the Psycho, until it twists into something else entirely; something unnatural, something monstrous. It's all Sam can do not to scream at them to shut the fuck up and let her get some goddamn rest because she's sick of having her name called, screeched, sung and whispered from every wall and every corner of the airy space.

"Shut up..." she pulls her blankets tighter around her tiny frame, shielding her body from the haunting echoes of the past.

"Shut up! Shut up shut up _shut up!_ " Her voice is muffled against the pillow. It sounds so weak and powerless against the crushing darkness with its wide, grinning mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth and those eternally hungry eyes searching for something - anything - to rip apart and devour.

 _Sammy... Why're you hiding from me, Sammy-bird?_ His voice whispers teasingly in her ear. She can almost feel the cold breath against her skin, almost smell the dank wetness of the mines and the tangy, salty scent of blood lingering ever-present in the air.

"Go away," she mutters, digging her nails into her scalp until she nearly draws blood. The pain keeps her grounded, reminds her what is real and what isn't, but his presence refuses to leave her alone. It hovers in the air above her, circles the bed around her, slinks under the blankets next to her.

 _Why'd you leave me, Sam? Sammy... Sam._..  _you came back for Mike. You came back for Mike but you left me._

"I didn't leave you," she wants to scream. "I didn't want to leave you! I was coming back!" And she would. She would have come back for him. She would.

The problem is... she never should have left him in the first place.

 _My beautiful little_ _Sammy-bird... why'd you fly away and leave me alone with Douchy McDickerson Munroe?_

"Because I'm a fucking idiot. Because I thought... I thought it was the best thing to do."

His throaty laugh brushes against her neck, sharp razor teeth scraping along her collarbone like some sort of fucked up wendigo kiss.

_And was it?_

"No."

She laughs bitterly against the softness of her pillow. It's supposed to smell like laundry detergent, shampoo and perfume, but now it only smells like dirt. 

Dirt... and blood.

 _Y'know, Sam..._  Josh drones sleepily, icy fingers trailing slowly over her exposed hip. She shivers violently, both from fear and excitement. His touch feels so real, so tangible she can't help but react to it. He leans down and nips gently at her throat, huffs of freezing cold breath causing goosebumps to erupt over her entire body.

 _It really did mean a lot to me that you came,_  he purrs against her neck, chapped lips lovingly tracing the outline of her jaw. The tip of his tongue flicks against her earlobe, sending a flurry of cold shivers down her spine.

_Too bad you were such... a fucking... **disappointment.**_

His voice transforms into something malicious - something deep and hoarse and not entirely human - and she falls out of her bed with a shriek as invisible claws descend on her; ripping through her torso and splitting her open like a morbid _piñata_ from Hell. She doesn't even register her own screaming before her bedroom door slams open and her mother is shaking her fervently.

"Samantha! Samantha, it's okay! For God's sake, what is wrong?!" 

She doesn't respond. She can't. Because for a minute, just before the darkness leaves the room, she swears she can see a tall, lanky figure perching on top of her wardrobe.

A tall, lanky figure dressed in tattered blue overalls covered in dirt and grime. 

A tall, lanky figure wearing the most unsettling grin she has ever seen: it's both human and animal, his left cheek ripped into a jagged, bloody version of the Glasgow smile, razor teeth glinting in the moonlight. His eyes are huge and green, but they're wrong. A milky film seems to have developed over them, making them appear both dull and agonizingly sharp at the same time. They seem to reflect the lights in a predatory, almost feline manner, and he snaps his jaws playfully above her mother's head before dissolving into nothingness with an animalistic chuckle.

"Josh..." Sam whispers his name like a prayer, like he will miraculously appear in front of her again if she just wants it strongly enough, but of course he doesn't. 

Imaginary beings tend to do whatever they damn well please, after all.

"Samantha, are you okay? Did you have a nightmare again?" Her mother touches her cheek gingerly, peering into her face with a worried crease on her forehead.

"I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Yep. Yeah. She's fine. She's always fine, isn't she?

Except that she isn't. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay no attention  
> to the man who tried to change you 
> 
> He's a dark familiar stranger  
> but that's the danger 
> 
> the storm is strong  
> but it won't be long
> 
> and no matter where you roam  
> there's no place like home


	3. Cover My Eyes

"Good morning, Samantha."

_Not really._

Dr. Alan Hill smiles at her and rests his elbows on the obsessively tidy desk in front of him. Really, his entire office is immaculate.

Excessively so. 

 _Jesus._   _I bet he even uses a ruler to line his pencils like that._ _OCD much? Maybe **I** should be shrinking **him** instead..._

"Sit down, please."

 _Yeah, why not. Not like I have a plethora of options, is it?_ Sam thinks drily and plops down in the chair across from him.

His unsettling eyes study her silently for a very long and very uncomfortable minute, and she's starting to feel the urge to dive through the open window and make a quick getaway when he speaks again.

"So, how have you been since our last session?" 

_Fucking awesome, Doc. I was visited by my dead crush last night. Oh, and he has **claws** now. No biggie. _

"Fine."

Dr. Hill sighs and leans back in his chair. 

"Samantha, we have already talked about this. You need to start opening up to me, otherwise I can't help you."

She cocks an eyebrow at him, incredulous.  _Help_ her? And how exactly does he plan on doing that? Prescribe her the wrong kind of medication like he did with Josh?

Yeah. That was really fucking helpful, wasn't it. 

"How are the nightmares?"

"Oh, they're absolutely _fantastic_ ," she replies sarcastically.

"Nothing like having your name repeated fifteen billion times by monsters and dead people. Really, it does _wonders_ for your mind. You should try it sometime, Doc. Oh, and did I mention they live in the walls? Yeah. Yep. Uh-huh. No lie. They _live_ in my damn _bedroom_ **_walls_**. Don't even pay rent, the mooching bastards. I should press charges."

"Mm-hmm," he mumbles and scribbles something down on a notepad. God, she wants to grab that stupid thing and whack him over the head repeatedly. 

"I see... I see. And these auditory hallucinations, do they occur often?"

Sam opens her mouth to answer, but a movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and she instinctively turns her head to look at the bloody corpse swinging slowly from the rope attached to the spotless white ceiling. Its head is missing, but that doesn't matter.

She knows who it is.

It's the flamethrower guy. 

He looks just as dead and mauled as he did when they found him hanging in the mines, only this time she can see every tiny, morbid detail of his mangled body without the darkness to partially conceal it.

 _S'okay, Sammy,_ a smooth voice purrs softly in her left ear.

_S'only another dead loon. Y'know, it's been kinda lonely down here since you barbecued my darling little sister in the cabin. I mean, I get that she was trying to eat you and it was kind of a stressful situation for everyone involved and all, but that was **exceptionally** uncool of you. _

"I know," she whispers. "I'm sorry. I had to."

"Samantha?" Dr. Hill looks at her curiously. 

_Sure. Sure sure sure. Keep telling yourself that, babe. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it._

She bites her lip and tries to ignore the sting of guilt and doubt brought on by his words. Her fingernails dig into the soft skin of her palms, and she's just starting to draw blood when she manages to snap back to reality.

"Yeah. No. Uh, what?" 

"What happened there, Samantha? And be honest with me. It'll be so much easier for us both if you cooperate."

_Hah. He used the same line on me, too. Whatcha think, Sammy? Loving my sloppy seconds head doctor yet?_

"Jesus Christ, Washington," she mutters and pulls her blonde hair out of its signature bun, running a hand through the tangled strands. God. She really needs a fucking shower.

_Just joshin' you, girl. Not a lot of entertainment value in being dead, to be honest with ya._

She used to think it was so cheesy when he said that. It was one of his favorite lines whenever he delivered one of his patented Washington-jokes, always earning him a chorus of collective groans from pretty much everyone within a thirty mile radius.

God... She misses that crazy, creepy asshole so damn much.

 _Aw, I miss you too, gorgeous. Who knew the afterlife would be so damn **boring** , right? I mean, y'know, they could've at least... I dunno... could've at least given me  **something**_ _to play with besides your pretty little head. **Not** , _he adds, and she can literally hear the damn smirk in his voice -  _that I don't enjoy being inside you._

"Christ..." she massages her temples to ward off the incoming headache. Even the imaginary version of Josh is infuriatingly inappropriate, and she feels the ever so familiar urge to smack him over the head with a chair. "Can I ask you a question, Dr. Hill?"

"Please, Samantha. I think we're beyond the formal stage now, don't you?"

 _Nope. No, I do not._ She forces a strained smile and puts her hair back up, mostly just to keep her hands occupied.

"Why did my parents hire you? How did they think it would help me?"

"Well..." He stands up from his chair and walks over to the window, staring out into the sunny afternoon for a while before answering.

"After the unfortunate incident on Blackwood Mountain, they did indeed feel like I could possibly bring you some...  _closure_... in regards to Joshua's untimely demise."

 _Unfortunate incident? Untimely demise? Jesus fucking Christ, is he for real?_ She has to dig her nails back into her palms to keep from strangling him to death where he stands.

_Sheesh, Sammy. Violent much?_

"Josh didn't just  _die,"_ she snaps. Dr. Hill turns to look at her, but he doesn't say anything. Those strange, all-seeing eyes seem to bore into her like a damn searchlight, and she has to keep from crouching down under his desk to hide from his scrutinizing gaze.

_God, he is so freaking creepy. He gives me the heebie-jeebies. How can someone so eerie and unsettling be entrusted with the responsibility of repairing fragile, broken minds? I wouldn't even trust him to clean my cat's litter box!_

"What do you mean by that, exactly?" he asks, calmly prompting her to continue when she doesn't say anything else.

"What do I mean? What the hell do you _think_ I mean?"

"Joshua's death was a tragic accide..."

"He was  _killed!_ " she sneers at him before he can finish his sentence. God, she hates that stupid, raised eyebrow so much. She wants to grab a razor and shave it all off.

Gone. Dead. Erased from reality.

"He didn't get caught in a fucking _landslide_ , he didn't choke to death on a piece of freaking _apple_ , he did not fall off a _cliff_ , and he didn't break his neck freaking snowboarding down some stupid slope! He. Was.  _Murdered_."

Dr. Hill calmly sits back down in his chair and looks at her with a disarming smile that inspires about as much trust as a dead rat. 

"I understand that you are still processing these things, Samantha. It's a lot to take in. First, the tragic deaths of Hannah and Beth Washington a year and a half ago, and then everything that happened with you and your friends. Really, it's perfectly understandable. You mind is still trying to make sense of everything, and fear can do horrible things to one's mentality. It's a powerful emotion and a dangerous tool in the wrong hands. Do you think... that maybe..." He folds his hands under his chin and looks at her with something akin to sympathy, but it comes across as nothing but pure arrogance and superiority.

Like someone trying to explain the concept of eating with a spoon to a toddler.

"Maybe... the reason why you keep imagining these monsters... is because somewhere deep down, after the trauma and the terror inflicted upon you by someone you _trusted_ , someone you _cared_ about..."

 _Where the hell are you going with this, you creepy old asshole?_ She wants to punch him. She wants to grab the letter opener from his desk and jam it in his jugular. She wants to bash his skull in with the ugly paperweight balancing on his immaculate desk.

_Tut tut, Samantha. When'd you decide to go all 'I Spit On Your Grave' kinds of loopy on me? Being twisted is **my** thing, remember? _

_Shut it, Washington._ She pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers and sighs, impatient for the session to end so she can just get the hell out of there already and bury herself beneath ten heavy blankets. She wants to be crushed by them, consumed by them. She needs the weight to pull her back down and remind her of what's real and what isn't because her mind is starting to unravel faster than the ball of yarn her cat stole from her mother's crochet basket.

Dr. Hill continues on with his preachy presumptions, as calm and composed as ever despite her growing restlessness. "Samantha, do you think that maybe these monsters, these... _delusions_... are a direct representation of what Joshua has become to you?"

"You're saying..." she slowly rises from her seat, rage boiling and burning like acid in her stomach.

"... that the monsters were just a figment of my imagination? That we -  _all seven of us_ \- just fucking  _imagined_ being attacked by cannibalistic asshole horrors because we were so messed up over Josh's prank that our minds needed to replace him with mythological goddamn creatures from Native American legends?!"

"Please sit back down, Samantha. Let's just..."

" _Fuck. You,"_ she hisses through clenched teeth. It takes all of her willpower not to grab his head and smash his creepy narrow-minded face against his desk repeatedly until he stops breathing. Instead she turns on her heel and slams the door behind her when she leaves.

 _Burn in Hell, you asshole, I know what I saw. I know what happened. Hannah was real. The monsters in the Sanatorium were real. They were **real.**  _She aggressively yanks her worn leather jacket from the coat rack next to the receptionist's desk with such force it sends the entire thing clattering to the floor.

 _Loudly_. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she mutters. Considering the distance between herself and the exit, she frowns and turns on her heel, leaving the mess for someone else to pick up - another very  _un-_ Sam-like thing to do.

 _You've changed, Sammy-bird,_ Josh whispers in her ear. The sound of his voice freezes her on the spot because it's so  _Josh._ Not the Psycho. Not the hoarse, screechy voice of the Wendigo.

It's just Josh. 

_You used to be kinder, y'know? Softer. Sweeter._

"Yeah, well..." She stomps across the parking lot, eyes trained on the white Sedan parked in the shade of a willow tree. She can see her mother through the windshield reading one of her magazines, completely oblivious to her daughter's internal debate with her dead crush.

" _You_ used to be alive, asshole. So I guess we both changed." 

Her mother looks up from the magazine when her seething daughter throws herself down into the passenger seat and snaps her seat belt on with a loud  _click!_

"What happened? Did you finish early?"

"Sort of."

"What?" Helena frowns, looking across the parking lot with a confused expression on her face. Sam follows her gaze, almost expecting Dr. Hill to stare back at her though the huge windows in his office, notepad in hand.

Thank God he doesn't. She's had enough of that presumptuous, arrogant creep for an entire lifetime.

"Please, mom. Let's just go home, okay?" Usually this would result in some sort of third degree, but the exhausted look on Sam's face keeps her mother from asking any other questions. She just nods her head and pulls out onto the highway.

Sam looks out the window and presses her forehead to the cool glass. It feels amazing against her blazing hot skin, and she closes her eyes with a small sigh.

"Is everything okay, Samantha? Do you want to talk about it?" asks Helena gently. 

"... Fine. It's fine. I'm just tired, that's all. And I have a headache. I just wanna go home and sleep for fifteen thousand years."

"I don't think the alarm clock can be set that far into the future," her mother remarks. Sam laughs, and it feels wonderful and strange and unfamiliar all at once. 

"Well, shit. Guess I have to rely on my dear mother to do it the old-fashioned way, then."

Helena takes her hand and gives it a small squeeze. 

"I'll see you in fifteen thousand years, then. And I'll still be just as pretty and youthful as ever!" She winks and turns her attention back to the road.

Sam smiles and closes her eyes once again. The sun warms her face, and a slight breeze ruffles her hair.

It smells like apple blossoms.

She's fallen asleep - or is about to - when the voice echoes quietly somewhere in the back of her mind:

_I'll see you soon, Sammy-bird._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover my eyes, cover my ears  
> tell me these words are a lie
> 
> it can't be true that I'm losing you  
> the sun cannot fall from the sky
> 
> can you hear the Heavens cry  
> the tears of an Angel


	4. Flawlessly Flawed

She's pretty sure she's losing her mind.

Well, she's not  _one hundred percent_ positive but, she's also pretty sure sane people don't normally hallucinate their dead crushes tearing into their mother's flesh at the dinner table.

"Samantha? You haven't touched your food," Helena notes with her intestines hanging from a gaping wound in her abdomen.

"I'm not... uh... I'm not hungry."

"But... it's vegetarian lasagna. Your favorite!" 

_Yes, mother. I am very well aware of what my own favorite food is, thank you ever so much. I'm just a tiny bit put off by Wendigo Washington currently chewing on the inside of your stomach. No offense or anything._

"At least have some salad, okay? You have to eat something." Her mother looks across the table.

"Philip, please tell your daughter to eat something. She looks positively  _ill!_ "

"She's nineteen years old, dear. I'm quite sure she is old enough to decide whether or not she's hungry," her father replies without removing his eyes from the TV.

"At least talk to her! I mean,  _look_ at her, for Pete's sake! She looks awful!" 

"Child still in the room," Sam remarks sarcastically and puts her fork down. Honestly, she loves her parents to bits but the way they talk about her sometimes makes her question whether or not she possesses the strange ability to suddenly become completely invisible.

 _Don't blame her, Sammy,_ the twisted image of Josh says and licks the blood from his torn lips.

_S'not her fault. Women can never focus on anything when I'm eating them out._

"Holy shit, that is so damn inappropriate, even for you," she mutters and pushes away from the table. Helena turns her attention back towards her, raising a very disapproving eyebrow in the process.

"You have not been excused, young lady." 

"I did not ask to be excused,  _madam,"_ Sam snaps back at her. 

"Samantha, really! Where have you picked up such a horrible attitude? Is this Michael's influence?"

Oooh, here we go. Mrs. James never approved of Mike, not even one fraction of the tiniest bit. Her father, however, seems to have adopted him as the son he never had. The hours they would spend tinkering away at some four-wheeled spectacle in the garage, yapping about sports and beer and other manly-man stuff her ladybrain wasn't programmed to compute...

She rubs her temple and sighs quietly.

"I'm sorry. I'm just tired, and my head hurts like He..." she catches herself at the very last second, seeing the way her mother frowns at her.

_No cussing in this house. Nooo sir. A proper young lady does not resort to cussing like a common simpleton. Nope. All prim and proper here, yes ma'am._

"... like heck. Hurts like heck. Can I please go to my room?"

Helena's stern facial expression softens slightly, and she purses her lips thoughtfully. 

"I really do wish you'd eat something..."

"Okay, yeah. Fine. Whatever." She stuffs a piece of the cold lasagna in her mouth and forces herself to chew. It goes down about as well as rubbery sandpaper and leaves a metallic taste on her tongue, but she takes another bite. Then another. And another.

"There. Can I go now?  _Please?_ I really need to close my eyes for a bit."

"Alright, alright. I'll put some food away for you and you can heat it up later. You may be excused, but we  _will_ be having a chat about your attitude later."

_Yippee._

Sam rises from her seat and forces a smile for her mother's sake. Her skin feels tight - too tight - and she can almost hear the strained creaks of her mouth trying to remember how a normal human being expresses happiness.

"Okay."

"Okay." Helena returns the smile, obviously pretending not to notice the way her daughter's face stretches unnaturally into a painful grimace.

"Have a good rest, sweetie."

_Not bloody likely._

"Yeah, thanks, mom."

She walks up the stairs to her room, carefully avoiding any dark corners until she closes the door behind her with a soft  _thud_.

_Alright. No hovering nightmare creatures? Check._

She looks under her bed like a small child, expecting to see the grim visage of her new visitor grinning at her from the blackness, but there's nothing.

No blood, no writhing intestines, no beating human hearts in glass jars.

"All clear," she mumbles and lets go of her bed cover. She gets back on her feet and closes the curtains on the cloudy, moonless night outside.

_So far, so good._

She strips out of her jeans, folding them neatly over a chair and removing her hoodie, leaving her in a fitted T-shirt and underwear. Then she crawls under her covers.

"If you're there, please do me the courtesy of leaving me the fuck alone tonight, okay?" she calls into the darkness. Then she waits. And she waits.

Nothing.

Maybe Josh finally decided to let her have some much needed rest. Or maybe he got his fill at the dinner table. Whatever the reason, she's relieved to have some headspace. God knows she really,  _really_ needs it. 

_Josh, if this is how you felt, dealing with those visions and hallucinations all by yourself... I understand why you went completely batshit._

Really. She does understand. She thought she understood back at the old hotel after reading through his files, after finding his lair. She thought she understood him. She thought she knew everything.

But she didn't. 

Not even close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can name my hundreds of faults, they continuously grow
> 
> Uncontrollable they might be, undoubtedly show
> 
> Who I am, the exceptionalness of me
> 
> Something unrepeatable, like nobody


	5. Romeo

_"Josh."_

_Sam reaches out and touches his shoulder, gently. He doesn't reply, but the slight tilt of his head indicates that he's listening._

_"What are you doing? It's practically sub-zero out here!" She shudders and pulls her jacket tighter around her tiny, shivering frame._

_"I'm... just..." he trails off, looking out towards the ocean. The waves crash violently against the pier, dousing them both in sprays of sea water. It's cold as fuck, but Josh doesn't seem to notice. His eyes just continue to stare off into the distance - lost in a world that only he can reach._

_"You'll freeze your balls off, you know. I bet you're already infertile."_

_He chuckles lazily, but doesn't move. Doesn't even look at her. His hand grabs for hers - cold, slender fingers interlacing with her own - before he pulls her down to his level, almost causing her to fall head over ass straight into the ocean._

_" **Josh** ," she hisses. _

_" **Sam** ," he says, mimicking her tone perfectly. She shoves him gently, unable to really hold on to her annoyance for more than a few seconds and hating herself for it. He always does this to her. No matter how infuriating he gets, she always forgives him instantly. Hell, she'd probably forgive him even if he  **did** send her splashing into the freezing depths of liquid pneumonia._

_Eventually._

_"So what are you doing, anyway? The party's inside. Or didn't you get the memo?"_

_He looks at her then; his big, green eyes heavily lidded as per usual, giving him a permanently sleepy expression._

_"Existing."_

_"No duh, Washington. We **all** exist. It doesn't exactly make you special, you know. As much as you like to believe it does." She smiles teasingly, effectively removing any kind of edge the comment might have had._

_**Seriously. Why do I like you so damn much, you creepy friggin' weirdo? Am I just a sucker for punishment, or what's the actual deal here?** _

_Honestly. Five long years of friendship, and she barely feels like she's even managed to scratch the surface with this guy. In some ways, she knows him so, so well. She knows his quirks, his fucked up sense of humor, his lame jokes and his unholy love for horror movies._

_She knows how his eyes tend to bug out randomly whenever he talks about something that excites him, she knows how his entire face lights up when he laughs, and how the sound of his voice makes her entire body tingle like it's Christmas morning._

_She knows how he makes her **feel**. But how does **he** feel? What is he thinking? His expressions are **impossibly unreadable** , and he's constantly joking around, deflecting every question with humor, perverted comments and general smartassery - quite annoyingly_  _sabotaging any and **all** attempts at every real connection she tries to make with him._

_**Who are you, Joshua? How can I reach you?** _

_He blinks owlishly at her, tilting his head ever so slightly, and for a split second she feels like he can see right through her._

_"D'you know... how it feels..." He reaches out and tucks a few rogue strands of her long, blonde hair behind her ear, causing her heart to race like the freaking energizer bunny on steroids._ _Those large, green eyes peering into hers, somehow managing to look unhinged, drugged up and completely gorgeous all at once._

_She almost forgets how to breathe when he leans closer, slightly chapped lips only mere inches away from her own._

_"...to be stung by a jellyfish?"_ _He pulls back, cool as a cucumber. She blinks rapidly, trying to recover from the minor heart attack she just experienced._

_" **What.** "_

_He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair and stands up, offering the same hand for her to grab. His skin connects with hers, and she swears she can feel sparks of actual electricity running through her body as soon as it does._

_"I hear it sucks. If you ever go swimming, watch out for the jellyfish."_

_"... Yes, Joshua. That is **exactly** what I planned to do. Swim with the freaking jellyfish. You got me," she says, rolling her eyes so hard she suspects she's managed to pull a muscle somewhere in her left eyeball._

_The tall brunette smiles dreamily, throwing one last look at the ocean over his shoulder before he pulls her into him and wraps those long, beautiful arms around her small body. He buries his face in her hair and sighs, utterly content and annoyingly ignorant of the impending heart attack he's currently inflicting upon her._

_**I swear to God this boy will be the literal damn death of me. Rest in pining peace, Samantha Nicole James. It's been real.** _

_" **Sammy** ," he breathes, voice sounding almost reverent. As much as she likes to pretend to be bothered by the nickname, it always causes her heart to flip juuust a tad whenever Josh uses it, and the way he bristles at anyone else trying to do the same thing makes her stomach flutter like a million tiny butterflies. _

_Not that she'd ever admit to it, of course._

_Sometimes she wonders how much he actually knows about the extent of her feelings for him. At times he seems completely flippin' oblivious - infuriatingly so - and other times... well... other times he does shit like **this**  and sends her into a damn  **tailspin**  and she doesn't know how the  **fuck**  she's still able to  **breathe**  with him being all **huggy** and **sweet** and **adorable** -_

_"I'm hungry."_

_**... Aaaaand it's gone.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First in line for the wishing well  
> for a long time, can't you tell
> 
> You see, I would have killed Romeo, and saved Juliet  
> but I don't write stories that time won't forget
> 
> so won't you pass me the kerosene  
> let's burn to the ground
> 
> you've be looking for meaning  
> did you like what you found
> 
> Forgive me, I've been lonely  
> but it's not like I don't know my way
> 
> ... I don't know my way ...


	6. You

 

If you must wait

wait for them here in my arms as I shake

 

If you must weep

do it right here in my arms as I sleep

 

If you must mourn, my love

mourn with the moon and the stars up above

 

If you must mourn

 

Don't do it alone

 

If you must leave

leave as though fire burns under your feet

 

If you must speak

speak every word as though it was unique

 

If you must die, sweetheart

die knowing your life was my life's best part

 

If you must die

 

Remember your life

 

If you must fight

fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night

 

If you must work

work to leave some part of you on this Earth

 

If you must live, darling one

 

Just live

Just live

Just live

 


	7. Breaking Free

_Step._ _Grab._ _Step. Grab. Breathe. Step. Grab. Step. Grab. Hold. Step. Grab. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe..._

"You're doing great, Sam!"

She looks down. Michael gives her a huge thumbs up and nods enthusiastically, dark hair dripping with sweat after his own workout. Despite the easy smile playing on his lips, he can't fool her. His brown eyes are filled with concern, and his long, muscular arms keep jerking in her direction, almost like a reflex.

Ready to catch her. Ready for something to happen. Ready for her to fail. 

_Again._

"Just take it easy, okay? You can do this, girl! I'm rootin' for ya!" 

She grits her teeth and finds another holding point. She's made it pretty far this time and she refuses to give up now, even though her muscles are screaming in protest and every item of clothing is sticking to her like glue.

_Okay. Okay. Breathe, Sam. You can do this. You've done this a thousand times. Easy does it. Easy. Okay. One more plateau._

She reaches the second to last alcove and hauls herself up, throwing herself down on the smooth surface. She's exhausted, and dehydrated, and she's pretty sure her entire body will be beyond useless in the morning, but _she made it._

Only one more to go, and she'll be okay. 

"Just one more, Sam," she whispers, wiping her face with the sleeve of her thin jacket. The material is slick and smooth and does little to nothing for her predicament, but at least the stinging subsides a bit.

" _Sam! You okay up there?"_ Mike calls up to her, concern now evident in his voice. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," she responds. She's out of breath, but otherwise okay. She just needs to finish this next level and everything will be perfect. She'll be herself again. 

 _But will you, though?_ Josh questions, almost on cue. She groans internally and drowns her frustration in the lukewarm water from the bottle strapped to her waist. 

"Yes, I will," she mutters defiantly, taking another swig. "I'll be fine. I'll be good. So shut up." 

 _Oh, really? Really really really?_ He mocks her, but that's not what makes her stomach turn to ice and her blood run cold in her veins. 

It's the fact that he's doing it in the exact same way as before, when she confronted him after his big reveal. The memory hurts her - slams into her like a ton of bricks - and suddenly the air is far too thin. She can't breathe properly. There's not enough oxygen in the world to fill her lungs, and her chest aches with the realization.

"No," she whispers, clutching her bottle like a lifeline. "No. No, I'm stronger now. I'm better now. You can't... you..." her voice trails off, head throbbing and tongue feeling like sandpaper in her mouth, and she knows she's in trouble when she starts hyperventilating.

"Breathe, Sam," she tells herself, placing her head between her knees and focusing on her breathing the way they taught her in trauma therapy; in through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out. Slow, controlled breathing. In. Out. In and out. 

"Just breathe. It's okay. You're okay. You're fine. Just breathe. Focus on the breathing. Just breathe. Just breathe. It's not real. It's not real. It's-" 

 _Oh, but I **am** real, Sammy-bird, _ he coos in her ear. 

 _I'm as real as you want me to be, babe. And let's be honest. You **really** want that, don't you?_ She feels his cold, slender fingers running down the side of her face, and she knows he's right. Some fucked up, messed up part of her really _does_ want him to be real.

She  _needs_ him to be real. 

_Sheesh, Sammy. If you wanted me inside you so badly, all you had to do was **ask.**_

"I should have helped you," she whispers, fingers desperately trying to find his but grasping nothing but air. 

"God, Josh, I should... I should have done more. I should have tried harder. If I had... maybe..." Maybe what? Maybe Josh hadn't been dragged away from her, away from his friends and his safety and his salvation? Maybe they hadn't tied him up in the shed and he'd still be alive?

If she had just  _said_ something...  _done_ something...

She curls in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees so hard her muscles practically scream out in agony, but she doesn't even notice. She presses her face against the slick fabric of her workout tights, trying so desperately to keep herself together.

She can see it now. So clearly.

His villainous gloating, the manic glint in his huge eyes as he declares his victory over them. Ash and Chris sitting dumbfounded in their chairs. Mike staring disbelievingly at the raving lunatic in overalls acting like some kind of criminal mastermind...

And Sam, trying to reason with him.

_"Hook, line and sinker for every little stinker!" Josh laughs, and it's a distorted sound. It's a disturbed sound. It's the sound of someone seriously riding the crazy train._

_"Josh..." Sam steps forward, hands raised mid-level, like she's approaching a wounded animal. "Your fingerprints were **all** over this. It was  **obviously** you."_

_"Oh, really? Really really really?" He looks at her, challenging her. **Come on** , his eyes tell her.  **Prove me wrong.**   **I dare you.**_

_"You're crying out for help, Josh... Come on, you **wanted** to get caught, didn't you?"  **Please!**  her mind screams at him. Begs at him. **Please. Please listen to me. Please.**_

_He scoffs at her, eyes flashing in anger and denial, and something more. Something... something vulnerable. "Oh, **sure.** I'm totally just crying out for help," he says, mocking her. "Help me! Ohh **help** me! Help **help!** " _

_He's making fun of her, but there's something real there, too. Somewhere in the mania and hysteria and the overall insanity, there's a real person crying for real help. She's one hundred percent sure of it. The quivering desperation in his voice gives it away, no matter how much he wants to deny it._

_"Come on!" he shouts at them, almost pleadingly. "Come on! It was just for fun! I mean, so you got a little bit of egg on your face, right? Nobody got hurt-"_

_"What are you talking about, you ass hat?!" Mike interrupts, all fierceness and hatred and disbelief. "Jessica's fucking **dead!** "_

_Josh stares at him, glee and merriment and mania all but gone. "... What?"_

_"_ _Did you hear me? Jessica. is dead. And you're gonna **fucking** pay, you  **dick!** " Mike advances on him, fists clenched, and she knows she has to do something. She has to say _ **_something_ ** _, but then it's too late, and Josh is on the ground._

_Unconscious. Helpless. Vulnerable._

"Josh..." Her choked sobs sound almost unnaturally loud surrounded by all the stone in the alcove, and she knows Mike can hear her. She knows he's already trying to reach her, but the ever so dashing Class President Michael Munroe is no mountain climber. He'd just kill himself trying to get to her.

Hell, he'd probably try anyway.

" _Sam! Sam, it's okay! We're gonna... I'm gonna come get you, alright? Just... fuck... just-just stay there! **Stay.** **There!** "_

No. No. She doesn't want him right now. She doesn't want his help. He punched Josh. He dragged him out into the snow. He tied him up in the shed. He left him there, alone and defenseless, and why?  _Why?_ Because Emily was more important? He could've brought Josh with him. He could've saved him. He could've... he could...

" _God!_ " She bites the inside of her wrist to keep from screaming. There had been  _so. many. chances._ So many damn chances for Josh to be saved, and they all let him down. They all betrayed him. He was sick! He was sick, and they knew it, and they left him anyway. And Mike... 

He hurt him. 

He hurt him.

He hurt him... but so did she. And what's worse? She failed him as well. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers into the cool surface of the stone wall. She doesn't even remember curling up beside it, hiding in the corner of the alcove, but it feels good against her flushed skin. "Josh, I'm so sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so, so, so sorry!" Her fingernails dig into her scalp, but she doesn't even feel the pain anymore.

It's nothing compared to the hellish flurry of emotions waging war inside of her.

"Sam..." 

The voice is so gentle. So careful. He's all concern and worry and strong arms pulling her into him, trying desperately to put her back together like she's made from nothing but fragile, delicate porcelain.

"Sam, God, I'm..." He doesn't know how to finish. He doesn't know how to help her. She's not even sure whether or not she even wants him to. She wants to scream and push him over the edge and beat him up and hug him all at once and her mind is nothing but a scrambled, useless mess.

He just sits there, letting her cling to him like he's the last tangible thing keeping her from losing her mind completely - her last thread to reality - and he strokes her hair and whispers gentle words that she doesn't even register, but the soft murmur is soothing all the same. 

 _Really, Sammy? **Him**? _ Josh sounds hurt. Almost impossibly so. 

"Please... please... don't..." she begs, feeling the pain and regret starting to consume her all over again. "Please just... _don't_."

 _D'you know what he did to me out there in the shed? Hm? Do you know?_ His voice turns cold, vindictive. Vengeful.  _He tied me up. You know that, don't you? Held a gun to my face, too._  Josh chuckles darkly, and the sound is both familiar and foreign all at once.

_He does that, doesn't he? Pretty President Asshole. He loves waving his gun around, doesn't he? Wanna bet he's compensating for something?_

"Just be quiet, please," she mutters against Mike's chest. He doesn't respond, only tightens his grip around her and rocks her gently back and forth, trying to comfort her the only way he knows how.

"Please, just please be quiet. Be _quiet_."

 _I'm sure darling Christopher already told you the riveting tale about the stark raving lunatic who just wanted pizza, huh? I mean, really. Did that warrant a beating? I was fucking hungry. I'm **always** hungry. Right, Sammy? Sammy-bird? You know, right? I'm always... so fucking... **HUNGRY** **!**_ The last word comes out in a shriek so deafening it causes her to jerk violently, almost sending both her and Mike straight over the edge of the narrow alcove. Probably would have, too, if Mike didn't have such good reflexes.

"HolyJesushotsauceChristmascakeareyouokay?!" He peeks over the edge and shudders visibly. " _Fuuuck_. That was scary. Thaaat... was scary. Don't-don't do that again, please. I only brought one extra pair of underwear!" 

She finds herself smiling, despite everything. Mike is such a dork. Sure, he looks like the stereotypical dreamboat you'd find in every generic action movie ever, but he's secretly just a giant goof.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're not my savior, just someone I used to see  
> I am broken, something's wrong inside of me
> 
> I feel violent  
> like I'm dying
> 
> I feel broken, maybe I'm just breaking free


	8. Migraine

"You  _what?_ " Her mother stares at her, unable to fully process the information she just received. Sam shrugs, pulling her blonde hair out of its bun and letting it cascade down her back.  _It's longer,_ she thinks as she picks up a hairbrush. Helena grabs it from her and turns her around to face the mirror, jaw set in a tight line as she starts brushing her daughter's hair. Or, well, more like  _pulling every damn strand violently out of her freaking skull_.

"Ow, ow, ow! Mom! Seriously? Child abuse!" Sam protests, giving her mother a sharp glare through the mirror. 

"I'm sorry, honey. I just..." Helena sighs and starts brushing again, a lot more gentle this time. Sam closes her eyes and lets the familiar sensation calm her down before she takes the plunge yet again.

"I said I don't want to see Dr. Hill anymore." 

"Yes, I heard you, Samantha. What I need to know is  _why._ Dr. Hill is one of the best psychiatrists available, and..." "He's _freaky_. I don't like him. He gives me the creeps, always staring at me like I'm some kind of science experiment!" She shudders, the memory of those unsettling eyes still fresh in her mind.

"And," she adds. "He's exceptionally arrogant. And gloaty. And self-righteous. And condescending as fu-"

"Samantha, _language!_ "

"... fudgestickles."  _Fudgestickles? Really?_ She can almost  _hear_ the sound of the invisible facepalm.  _My god, could I be any lamer..._

Hazel eyes - so identical to her own - search her face through the reflective glass in front of her. She reads both doubt and concern in them, mixed with a quiet determination that makes her stomach twist with its familiarity.  _Uh-oh_. She knows that look. She knows it all too well. 

"Nevermind," she says before her mother can voice her thoughts. "I'll manage. Somehow."

Helena brushes Sam's light blonde hair into a long, silky braid and lets it fall down her back before she places her hand on her daughter's cheek, eyes gentle.

"Sweetheart, I know it's difficult," she says quietly. "But I honestly think he can help you. He's an extremely qualified psychiatrist, if a bit eccentric, and he comes highly recommended. Just... just please try to stick with it, okay? Just for a while longer. Give it a few more weeks, and if you still feel this way then we'll talk about finding someone else for you, okay?" She wraps her arms around her daughter's slender frame and kisses her lovingly in the back of her neck.

"We'll get through this together, my darling. Philip and I will do everything we can to make sure you get the help you need, and we'll be with you every step of the way. We love you so much, Samantha. I hope you know that."

 _Must be nice,_ Josh sneers at her. She feels every hair on her body stand on edge, and even her mother's embrace isn't enough to keep the sudden chill at bay. 

 _Please,_ she thinks pleadingly.  _Please, Josh, please just let me have this. Please just leave me alone. Just this once. **Please.**_

"Are you okay, honey?" Helena grips her shoulders carefully, turning her around to look her in the eyes. She puts her hand on her forehead and frowns, confusion and worry painted clearly on her beautiful face.

"You feel cold," she mumbles and flips her hand around, feeling her skin with the back of it this time. "You're a bit clammy, as well. Are you feeling okay? Do you want me to make you some tea?" 

"Yes, please," Sam whispers, eyes locked on the nightmarish apparition crouching on her mother's pristine vanity. Josh grins, razor teeth stained a deep crimson and those dull, piercing eyes flashing dangerously at her. He pulls his limbs tighter - like a predator getting ready to pounce - and she knows she won't be able to stifle her scream if he decides to jump her.

_Not real. Not real. Not real. Not real. Breathe, Sam, breathe. He's not real._

"Come on, sweetie. Let's get you a nice, warm blanket and a hot cup of tea. Hopefully you'll feel better." 

"Okay. Yeah. Yeah, tea sounds..." Sam swallows, skin prickling as she feels that hungry, animalistic gaze pierce her body. "... good."

She follows her mom into the kitchen and sits down on one of the bar stools whilst Helena starts preparing the kettle, wary eyes hunting for any potential hallucinations lurking in the shadows with their sadistic grins and taunting words.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Just the way you like it." 

Her favorite mug is placed in front of her, and she grips it tightly with both hands. It's scolding hot, but her body feels unbearably cold all of a sudden. She shivers and takes a sip, careful not to burn her tongue. The warmth feels amazing, but the taste... the taste is way off. It doesn't taste like her favorite blackberry and raspberry mix at all, not even close. It tastes salty, and slightly rusty, and it leaves a strange, metallic tang in her mouth... 

 _Holyfuckingshit!_ She spits it out onto the counter, and the crimson liquid makes her stomach turn violently. The entire mug is filled to the brim with blood, and she swears she can see a  _human fucking heart_ beating in the morbid soup from Hell. She drops the mug and scrambles to her feet, stool clattering loudly to the floor, and she barely makes it to the sink before her stomach empties itself of all its contents.

"Dear Lord!" Helena exclaims, rushing to her daughter after recovering from the initial shock. She rubs her back soothingly, trying to coax her to wash her mouth out with a glass of sparkling water. Sam eyes it suspiciously, but it looks perfectly normal. She's still skeptical when she takes the first tiny sip, but there's nothing weird or disgusting about it. 

"Is that better? Do you need me to call a doctor?" 

"No," Sam replies and shakes her head. "No, no, I'm... I'm fine. I just... maybe I just ate something bad."  _Liar._ "I'll be okay. I think I just need some rest. I didn't sleep much last night, so, maybe that's it." 

"I don't know..." "Mom, I'm fine. I promise. I'll be fine. It's probably just a bug or something. One of those twenty-four hour things." She smiles at her mother, trying to reassure her, but it's really rather difficult to act convincingly when the grotesque parody of her crush is currently lapping blood up from the floor less than two feet away from them.

He lifts his head and looks at her, grinning as he offers her the still beating heart lying amongst the broken shards that were once her all-time favorite mug.

 _For you, babe. Be my Valentine?_ He tilts his head, torn lips dripping crimson down onto his filthy overalls. They're frayed and worn; edges smudged with coal from the mines and the blue fabric completely caked in dried dirt and blood.

"Oh, God..." Sam turns away from the grisly scene. She's quite sure her skin has turned a sickly shade of green at this point.

 _Awh, come on, Sammy! 'S just a little bit of corn syrup, y'know?_ He crawls over to her, movements both smooth and jerky at the same time, and those huge eyes staring unblinkingly into hers. He offers her the heart again, and this time she can even hear the heavy beating like a drum in her ears. 

_Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump._

"Go away, she whispers. "Go  _away!_ " 

He smiles at her, and for a second it seems more sad than malicious.  _Okay, Sammy. I'll leave you alone. For now._ Then he's just Josh again; the same broken, wounded boy they found roaming around the mines lost in his own head, and she regrets her words instantly.

But it's too late.

 _"Bye, Sammy-bird,"_ he whispers. _"I'll miss you."_

And then he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behind my eyelids are islands of violence
> 
> my mind ship-wrecked this is the only land my mind could find
> 
> I did not know it was such a violent island
> 
> full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions
> 
> they're trying to eat me, blood running down their chin
> 
> and I know that I can fight, or I can let the lion win
> 
> I begin to assemble what weapons I can find
> 
> 'cause sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind


	9. Friends

_"Hey, Sam?"_

_"Mm?" She looks over at her best friend, squinting against the bright sunlight. Hannah slips off her shoes and lets her feet soak in the cool ocean water splashing gently against the edge of the beach._

_"Have you ever been in love?"_

_Sam pushes herself up on her elbows, considering the question. Her gaze automatically flickers towards the tall, dark-haired enigma currently playing water polo with Chris, Matt and Jessica a few yards away from them. Her heart jumps in her chest when his laugh reaches her ears, and for a moment she finds herself unable to look away._

_He's not conventionally handsome - not like Mike or Matt - but there's just something about him. Sure, some people might even call him strange-looking with those huge, green eyes and that impossibly angled jawline, but Sam isn't one of them._

_"Hellooo-ooo? Earth to Space Cadet Sami!" Hannah waves a hand in front of her face, grinning. She clears her throat and tries to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. Did her best friend seriously just catch her checking out her big brother?_

**_Yeah._ _Awkward._**

_"Should I take that as a yes, then?" Hannah teases her, raising her eyebrow knowingly._

_"I... uh... no. I mean... I'm... not sure," she admits. Her eyes catch Josh's, and she swears her heart damn near stops. He's looking straight at her, green eyes bright and beautiful against his tanned skin. The sunlight reflects off every drop of water running down his chest, shimmering like diamonds._

_He's not exceptionally muscular, but he's not a twig either. The slight muscle tone suits him perfectly, she thinks. She usually goes for more athletic types - being a fairly active person herself - but this is **Josh**. Her breath catches in her throat when he smiles at her; that slow, enigmatic trademark Josh Washington-smile, and she instantly melts into a puddle._

_**He's so damn beautiful.** _

_They maintain the eye contact for a few seconds longer, until Chris shouts something at him and he has to turn his head to catch the ball. Sam lets out a shivering breath and turns back to her friend._

_"_ _I mean, maybe? How do you even know for sure?"_

_The brunette laughs and gives her a pointed look. "Uh, hello? Remember who you're talking to? I'm the official No-Date Kate. The closest thing I've ever come to having a boyfriend is **reading** about it. I'm about thiiis far away.." she measures a couple of tiny inches between her thumb and her index finger "... from joining the convent."_

_"Oh, come on, Han," Sam smiles reassuringly. "You're just shy. There's nothing wrong with that. Besides, whatever happened to that cutie you met at the library last week? You were so excited! I mean, I swear I even heard wedding bells in the distance for a second there."_

_Hannah blushes and twirls her hair nervously. "He, uh, he's... gay."_

_"Oh." Sam doesn't really know how else to respond. She feels terrible for her friend; she had been so happy and flustered when she told her about their first meeting and how they were into all the same books and..._

_**Oh.** Well. Shit. Okay, maybe she should have seen that one coming after all. _

_Hannah loved romance novels, particularly the works of Jane Austen. She liked to joke about how she was born in the wrong century, and Sam felt inclined to agree. Hannah was far too sweet and gentle for this harsh world. She belonged in an era of romance where courtships involved flowers and dancing, not hooking up once or twice in the back of some dude's car after one too many beers._

_"I'm sure you'll find your Prince Charming someday, Hannah. There's bound to be **some** good ones amongst the troglodytes at our school."_

_"Well..." Hannah chews her bottom lip and glances over at her, brown eyes twinkling. "There's... one guy. Bu-"_

_" **What?!"** Sam interrupts, grabbing her arms excitedly. "Who is it? Do I know him? Do you need me to stalk him for you?" _

_The middle Washington-child blushes furiously, refusing to meet her eyes as she mutters: "It doesn't matter. He's way too popular, I mean, I'm not even a blip on his romantic radar. Trust me, Sami, he'd never be interested in me."_

_"Hey," the blonde says sternly, hazel eyes peering seriously into brown. "You need to give yourself more credit, okay?" She pulls her friend into her, giving her a tight hug. "You're an amazing person, Han. You're kind, and you're sweet, and you're considerate, and you're so beautiful. You just need to see it for yourself."_

_Hannah wraps her thin arms around the blonde, hugging her back."That's easy for you to say. You and Beth, you're.. you're so much braver than I am. Beth, she's... she's never afraid to go for the one she wants. Girls, guys... it doesn't matter. If she likes someone, she just goes all in. I could never do that, Sam."_

_Sam pulls back and smiles, eyes gentle. "You don't need to compare yourself to Beth, you know."_

_"Yeah. I know. So, **a-ny-way!** " Her best friend raises her eyebrow and grins. "Are you ever going to tell him? And don't even pretend not to know what I'm talking about, Sami. I can read you like an open book." She adjusts her glasses, eyebrow raised._

_"No way!" Sam blurts out, earning her a gentle laugh from the brunette. "I mean... come on. He calls me his little sister. **His little sister,** Han. I've been freakin'  **sister-zoned.** There's just no way." She looks back at Josh, but immediately regrets it._

_Jessica has her arms wrapped around his neck, hands playfully ruffling his wet hair. She's all flirty smiles and battering eyelashes, and Sam finds it hard to breathe. It feels like her heart is being crushed by an icy iron glove. She can feel her nails digging into her palms, but the pain is a welcome distraction._

**_It's fine, Sam. It's fine. He doesn't belong to you. He can do what he wants._ **

_"Sami? Sam, what's..." Hannah follows her gaze, eyebrows furrowing in sympathy and understanding. "God, that girl is positively **incorrigible** ," she huffs. _

_"Who're we talking about?" Beth dumps her towel haphazardly down onto the sand next to Sam. She's wearing a black swimsuit, and that perpetual beanie looks so ridiculously out of place it almost makes her laugh, but this is **Beth.**_

_She does whatever she damn well pleases._

_"Jessica," Hannah mutters, shooting the blonde bombshell a nasty look. "She's putting the moves on Josh, and we do. not. approve."_

_"Gotcha," Beth replies and yanks something out of her sister's beach bag before she stands back up and walks into the water. Sam exchanges a questioning look with the other Washington twin, who in return shrugs and shakes her head, mouthing **"I don't know."**_

_" **Hey, Jezebel!** " Beth yells, startling everyone around her. "Paws off my brother, you greedy woman!" She throws something at them, causing Jessica to squeal and let go of Josh to avoid being hit by it. _

_**It** being a tennis ball._

_Josh takes the full brunt of it straight to the face and curses loudly. " **Fuck** , Bethany! What was that for?" He stares accusingly at his sister, eyes both wide and narrow at the same time, which is quite impressive. Sam snickers, somehow not feeling entirely too sympathetic about it._

_"Nice one, Beth," she comments when the younger twin plops back down and stretches out on her towel, basking in the sunlight. Beth grins and gives her a conspiratory wink._

_"I've got your back, Sam. As much as the thought of Josh being romantically involved with, well... **anyone**... disturbs me..." she shudders, grimacing. "I'd much rather see  **you** with him, not that...  **harpy.** "_

_"I fully concur," Hannah agrees. Sam laughs, pulling the twins into her. She hugs them tightly, so incredibly grateful for their existence in her life._

_She honestly has no idea what she would do without them, and she never wants to find out._

_"I love you guys so much."_

_"We know," Beth replies teasingly, then she plants a peck on her cheek. Sam looks over her shoulder, catching Josh's eyes on her. He doesn't look away, and she doesn't expect him to. Another thing she definitely **does not**  expect him to do is break into a damn run and literally **throw** himself over her, completely ruining the moment._

_" **JOSH!** " The twins yell his name in unison when they're attacked by a wave of sand and ocean water crashing down on them as he lands. Sam - however - is far too distracted by the fact that **Josh** freaking **Washington** is lying on top of her, huge green eyes staring into hers, sparkling beautifully in the bright sunlight. She swears she can see them flicker down to her lips for just a second, but it happens so fast. Too fast. It might as well just have been wishful thinking._

_"What?" He says, voice husky and low in his throat. She wants to kick herself in the face when her entire body goes weak at the sound of it._

**_Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. He doesn't see you that way._ **

_"I mean,'s just a family hug, right? I'm family. Big bro Joshua. Right, Sammy?" He looks at her, expression completely unreadable. She honestly can't tell whether or not he's messing with her, and she wants to punch him right in his stupid, beautiful face and kiss the everliving fuck out of it at the same time. Why can't he just be a normal freaking guy and not this... this... frustratingly confusing, enigmatic creature!_

**_Honestly. How much is one single, fragile human heart expected to survive before it completely gives in, anyway?!_ **

_Ugh, God. She really, really wants to hit him. Just this once. It'd be so easy. It_ **should** _be so easy. He was_ ** _right freaking there_  ** _being his own usual gorgeous, infuriating self, but all she can do is smile_ _at him, and her entire being just melts into a puddle when he smiles back. That slow, lazy, all-knowing Josh Washington-smile._

_**That smile should be classified as a nuclear weapon,** _ _she thinks drily. But she can't deny the immediate effect it has on her._ _She wants to freeze that moment forever, if only to preserve this feeling of complete and utter happiness._

_"One big, happy family," Beth grins._

_"Forever," Hannah chimes in._

_Josh raises his hand and brushes a strand of hair away from Sam's face, fingertips lingering on her jawline juuust a tiny bit longer than necessary, the tip of his thumb briefly caressing her cheekbone._

_" **Forever,** " he whispers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your friends have been here for too long
> 
> They must be waiting for you to move on
> 
> Girl, I'm not with it I'm way too far gone
> 
> I'm not ready, eyes heavy now
> 
> Heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved
> 
> Running in circles, now look what you've done
> 
> Give you my word as you take it and run
> 
> Wish you'd let me stay, I'm ready now


	10. Already Gone

"I really. hate. hospitals," Sam mutters as she walks down the sterile, bright hallway. It smells like antibiotics and cleaning products, and she's pretty sure she already cheated death at _least_ twice by dodging, ducking and diving out of the way every time one of _The Afflicted_  crossed her path. 

_Who even decided that having a bunch of sick people roaming the halls willy-nilly was a swell idea, anyway?! Aren't they supposed to be freaking quarantined or something? I mean, they can totally end up infecting the entire world and killing everyone, right? I mean, that's what happens in every zombie movie ever..._

_" **A-chOO!** " _

"Ah, fiddlesticks!" she exclaims, barely managing to twist her body away from the spray of germs being shot at her from the flank. She glares daggers at the culprit - a small, red-nosed child clutching a teddy bear - and shivers involuntarily at the sight of her bloodshot, fevered eyes. 

 _Do not approach me, plague bearer!_ the petite blonde thinks as the girl takes a step in her direction. And then another. Her internal screams of warning and alarm are being thoroughly ignored by the receiver, and yet another step is taken.

 _Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope._ Sam breaks into a sprint, just barely missing a figure dressed in white as she rounds the corner. There's the clattering of a noteboard hitting the floor and a startled outcry left in her wake, but she doesn't turn to look. 

It's every man, woman and child for themselves in such perilous situations, after all.

" _Hey, no running in the halls!_ " they shout after her. She sighs and slows down, continuing forward in a quick shuffle.

After all, she was only told not to  _run._

 _At least my bouquet survived._ Sam glances down at the increasingly distressed arrangement of flowers in her hands, frowning.  _For the most part, anyway._ She pulls out a couple of broken lilies and drops them to the floor, not even bothering to look for a trash can. 

"Lookie-look, Joshie. I'm _littering_. Anything you wanna say about that? Anything at all?" 

_Silence._

It's been three days since the last time Josh spoke to her. He hasn't said a word since the kitchen incident, and she knows she should be happy about it. Okay, she should be _more_ than happy about it. She should be elated! Ecstatic! Over the flippin' moon! 

The silence should be a blessing... but it isn't.

It's a curse.

It feels _wrong_. _Empty. Lonely. Unsettling._

"God... I can't believe I actually miss that crazy asshole..." She pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers, sighing deeply.

Of _course_ she shouldn't miss him.

Well, not  _that_ version, anyway. Not the night-time terrorist. Not the bloody, torn up creeper who apparently seemed to be under the very deluded impression that handing her a  _beating human heart_ is the equivalent of a proper romantic gesture.

But then again...

How much did she even know about the real Josh Washington? He always _did_ have a warped, twisted sense of humor... but even so. Would he actually present the object of his affection with a real live  _heart?_ Even as a joke? 

_He **did** use real pig intestines to mess with Chris and Ashley, Sam. He left a **rotting pig carcass** lying around for them to find. How can you even put anything past that lost, twisted boy anymore? Who would even  **do** something like that? _

"No, Samantha, stop it! You're driving yourself crazy!" Sam frowns, eyes darting across the empty hallway. If anyone caught her actually arguing with herself like some sort of loon, she'd be wheeled off to the funny farm for sure.

Well... maybe that's where she belongs, anyway. 

 _It wasn't his fault,_ she tells herself.  _He was just sick. He needed help. That's all._

She finally reaches her destination.  _Room 34._ The letters and the numbers blend together before her eyes, shifting and pulsating as if they're warning her of some kind of life-threatening presence being contained within, which is ridiculous. She blinks once, twice, and it's gone. She presses her ear against the door, listening intently for... what, exactly? _Danger?_ No. No, of course not. That's completely insane.

What kind of danger could possibly be lurking in a freaking  _hospital_ room? 

It's completely absurd. She knows it is. Why is she even here if she can't even bring herself to actually  _knock on the damn door?!_

"Stop being a weirdo, Samantha," she whispers to herself. There's a slight murmur coming from the other side, but nothing particularly monstrous. It sounds like muffled voices, for the most part. Human voices. She can't figure out whether it's the TV or actual live human beings, however. If it's the former, then there's no problem. If it's the latter... well... 

If it's the latter then she desperately wants to turn her heel and nope the fuck out of there. Just bolt for the exit and whoever is in there would be none the wiser. Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea. Just leave and come back in five years or so. A fabulous plan.

Because running and hiding from every problem in the entire world is totally something she wants to do for the rest of her life.

_Jesus, when did you become such a scaredy-cat, Sammy?_

Her breath stops for a second, and the familiar sound of that dark, sleepy voice nearly brings her to tears before she realizes he's not actually back. It's just an echo, a memory.

He'd said the exact same thing to her a few years prior, after she refused to jump down from the tree house in his backyard because she'd somehow convinced herself she would definitely break every bone in her fragile little body and die horribly.

To his credit, Josh only teased her for about a minute before he smiled that blindingly beautiful Joshua Washington-smile and opened his arms wide, looking up at her with those impossibly huge eyes.

**_C'mon, Sam. Don't be scared, okay? I'll catch you. I promise._ **

She remembers listening to those words. The sweetness of them, the tenderness in his voice, making her believe every single one without question. She remembers digging her fingernails into the wood, breathing deeply.  

Once. Twice. Three times. 

 _She closes her eyes and feels everything: the rush of adrenaline as she throws herself off the edge, elation and excitement and fear fighting for dominance inside of her. The sensation of being completely weightless. She feels the wind rushing through her hair and it seems as if she's just going to fall forever... and then she feels those warm, strong arms around her body, steadying her. Keeping her eyes closed, she presses her face against the soft fabric of his shirt, desperately trying to catch her breath._

_It's as if every sound in the entire world has been muted, and the only thing she can hear is the rapid beating of her own heart. She can smell his aftershave - a very recent addition to his morning routine - and that clean, expensive cologne he always wears._ _Every fiber of her being is tuned into him, and she finds herself wishing she could just stay in this one, breathtaking moment forever._

_**See?** Josh whispers, soft lips brushing gently against her neck. _

**_I'll always catch you, Sammy._ **

"God, Josh..." Sam swallows hard, the lump in her throat making it almost impossible to breathe. It feels like she's choking. The air seems far too thick and heavy and far too dense all of a sudden, and her heart is pounding in her ears.  _No, no, no, no... please..._ She rests her forehead against the door, desperately trying to regain control of her senses.

_Not here. Not here. Not here. Please..._

Why did this happen to her? Why couldn't she go _one single freaking day_ without being tormented by his memory? If she loved him _so much_ , why didn't she react more severely when she first learned of his horrible fate back at the cabin? When Mike told her what happened to him? Why didn't she go back to see for herself?

Why didn't she even _try_ to save him?

 _It's all your fault, Sam. It's your fault he's dead. You **deserve** this._   _The nightmares, the hallucinations, the anxiety, the depression..._

_**You deserve every. little. bit of it.**  _

She rubs her eyes raw with the back of her hands. The throbbing in her head is unbearable, and the bright white lights really don't do anything to lessen the pain at all. She curses under her breath and grabs the door handle, hesitating.

"Okay, Sam. Come on, girl," she tells herself.

"It's just a band-aid. You're already this far. You didn't brave the plague infested hallways from Hell for n- _WHOAA!_ " A hand lands on her shoulder, startling her - quite literally - out of her fragile, frazzled mind. She spins around, brandishing the flower bouquet over her head like a weapon ready to strike. 

"Wow, chill! I'm sorry! I didn't... mean..." Matt pauses, fixing his eyes on the flowery attack in progress. Some of the petals are still fluttering gracefully around them, a couple of pink ones taking up residence in his dark hair.

"Are you... gonna hit me with that?" he questions, hands raised. "I come in peace, I promise. I'm unarmed. See?" 

Sam lowers the bouquet, painfully aware of how utterly ridiculous she must've looked. He doesn't laugh at her, though. He just looks at her with those warm, brown eyes brimming with confusion and concern, and in some ways she'd probably have preferred the laughter. 

 _Mike would have laughed._  

"Uh... yeah. I mean, no. Hi," she says lamely. 

"Hey."

They stand there, looking at each other in silence for a minute, before he clears his throat and smiles. "So, you here to see Jess, or do you just randomly stand around yelling at yourself in front of hospital rooms these days?" 

"Don't forget about the impressive display of my deadly flower wielding," she comments drily. He laughs, and the awkward tension dissipates. 

"Right, right. My bad." He scratches his cheek and glances at the door. "Is this your first time here? I mean since, well... everything." 

"Yeah. I mean, I've..." Sam hesitates for a second, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "... I've kinda been putting it off for as long as possible, you know? I've been putting a lot of things off, to be honest. I just... I want to stop doing that. I want to stop being so afraid of everything, all the time. And I... I figured this would be a good place to start." She takes a deep breath, mentally patting herself on the back.

_Good job, Sam. That actually sounded half-way believable._

"No, yeah, I hear ya. Things have been..." Matt trails off, and his dark eyes seem to slowly glaze over. He suddenly feels a thousand miles away, and Sam almost wants to shake him.

But she doesn't. 

"Matt?" she calls his name quietly, trying to coax him gently back to reality. He gives his head a quick shake and smiles apologetically at her, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

"Sorry, what?" 

"I think I lost you there for a second. You okay?" She tilts her head at him, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"Yeah," he replies. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

_Liar._

She knows he's lying, probably better than he does. She knows that because he looks and sounds exactly like she does whenever she's trying to convince someone she's  _fine._

_Just **fine.**_

"So, we doing this or what?" Matt grins. Sam nods, clutching her bouquet like a lifeline. "Yeah, let's... get this show on the road, I guess. I mean, we _could_ just stand here like a couple of idiots until we either die of old age or, y'know, starve to death, but..."

Matt laughs and places his hand on the doorknob. "Well, they do probably have a geriatric ward here..."

**_"I swear, they just need, like, something to bond over, y'know? Some sort of... traumatic event to send them into each other's arms. I mean, at this rate they'll be in the geriatric ward before Chris makes a move."_ **

Sam closes her eyes, groaning. So this is how it's going to be from now on, is it? She doesn't have her own private nightmare hallucination taunting her anymore so now she's being haunted by actual memories?

Yeah. No. Screw that. She'd rather go with the creepy monster asshole, thank you very much.

_Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

Her entire body freezes on the spot as soon as the sound reaches her ears. For just a tiny fraction of a second she thinks she can hear the clicking of his long, deadly claws clattering down the hallways towards her, and her neck nearly snaps in the process as she whirls around to look for the source of the sound, heart racing.

Is it him? Is he back?! She wants to call out to him, but she doesn't. Her eyes dart from side to side, even checking the ceiling, but there's no sign of him anywhere. What  _is_ that sound? Where  _is_ it? Could it really be him? Could it be...

_No._

She swallows the bitterness of her disappointment when she sees a nurse walking into a room a few doors down, long red nails tapping against the clipboard in her hand. She wants to yank the damn board out of her grasp and slam it across the woman's face, and the violent urge actually scares her. Did she really want to see that monstrosity again? Did she want it -  _need it_ \- so badly it made her completely unhinged? What the hell was the matter with her?

"Sam? You coming?" Matt calls from the doorway. He looks at her questioningly, and she's straining to remember how normal people shape their lips whenever they want to smile in a completely sane and  _I'm-not-crazy-I-swear_ manner. 

Yeah. He doesn't buy it at all, that much is obvious. But he's not commenting on it either, something she very much appreciates.

"Coming," she says. He nods and disappears into the room.

Sam takes a deep breath and gathers herself before following, closing the door quietly behind her. The air is cooler in here, and the harsh fluorescent light is replaced by a dimmer, yellowish glow - something her impending migraine is _very_ grateful for. Matt already left his jacket hanging on a coat rack, so she removes her own and places it carefully next to his. It's the same one he wore on the mountain, that much is clear. The white leather is scratched in several places, and the sleeves are frayed and torn along the edges. No doubt he'd already been given the option to replace it by the school principal or his coach, but for some reason he hadn't.

 _Maybe it's his lucky charm. Aren't athletes kinda weird about that stuff? I mean, I guess he **did** kinda survive falling off a freaking  **fire tower**_ _on the very tippy top of a freaking **mountain** and then crashing into the freaking _ ** _mines_** _and then surviving a freaking **wendigo attack**... though that was probably mostly because of the flare gun and not so much because the cursed thing admired his choice of wardrobe... _ Sam smirks at her own joke.

 _Hey, laughter is the best medicine, right? The cure for everything and anything that ails you! Harr harr._ At least, that's what they say. Who's  _they,_ anyway? Why do these obscure, mysterious people get to dictate what is right and what isn't? 

 _Sounds fishy if you ask me,_ she thinks as she desperately rearranges the poor flower bouquet into something at least  _resembling_ its former grandeur. Three roses and one lily ends up in the bin next to the door, but the rest of them look fine. Samantha James is indeed _not_ very skilled in the art of flower arranging at even the best of times, but she feels pretty satisfied with the result anyway.

Now it only looks a  _tiny_ bit frazzled.

She rounds the corner, pleased with her magificent effort. Matt and Jessica are talking quietly together, faces only inches apart and fingers intertwined on top of the fluffy duvet. 

 _Well, well, well. What have we here..._ Sam raises her eyebrow, but she doesn't comment on it. No way in HELL is she getting involved in _any_ kind of drama between Jessica Riley and Emily Davis, of all people. No way. Nu-uh. Nope. Despite her hair color, she likes to think she's relatively smart. Sometimes. Maybe. And smart people do not put themselves in the middle of a freaking nuclear war. 

Matt finally notices her presence. He clears his throat awkwardly and pulls his hand back, cheeks tinted red. The bedridden blonde, however, remains unflustered. 

"Hey, Sam. Uh... sorry. Guess you, uh... caught us in the act."

Jessica snorts. "In the  _act?_ Seriously, Matt? It's not like she walked in on us banging it out or anything," she says, rolling her eyes. "God. Socially inept, much?" 

_Wow. Harsh, Jess._

Her eyes soften, and she gently places her hand on top of Matt's. "I'm sorry. I was trying to make a joke, but... I guess I'm not completely over my mean girl phase yet. Forgive me?" 

Matt looks at Jessica. His brown eyes practically radiate tenderness, and Sam finds herself smiling despite the awkwardness of the situation. She has to admit, they suit each other. Matt and Emily never made much sense, at least not to her. He was so kind, and so patient, and Emily was... so... well,  _Emily._

"So..." Jess says, biting her lip nervously. "I... guess we have some explaining to do."

_Well. This should be good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember all the things we wanted
> 
> now all our memories are haunted
> 
> forever wasn't meant for you and I
> 
> even with our fists held high
> 
> even with our hearts aligned
> 
> we were never meant for do or die


	11. Neptune

Pitch black, pale blue

It was a stained glass variation of the truth

and I felt empty-handed

 

You let me set sail with cheap wood

so I patched up every leak that I could

'till the blame grew too heavy

 

Stitch by stitch I tear apart

if brokenness is a form of art 

I must be the poster child prodigy

 

Thread by thread I come apart

if brokenness is a form of art 

surely this must be my masterpiece

 

I'm only honest when it rains

if I time it right, the thunder breaks when I open my mouth

I wanna tell you but I don't know how

 

I'm only honest when it rains

an open book with a torn out paqe and my ink's run out

I wanna love you but I don't know how

 

I don't know how

I wanna tell you but I don't know how

No, I don't know how

I wanna love you but I don't know how

 

Pitch black, pale blue

these wild oceans shake what's left of me loose

just to hear me cry  **mercy**

 

A strong wind at my back 

so I lift up the only sail that I have

this tired white thread

 

I'm only honest when it rains

if I time it right, the thunder breaks when I open my mouth

I wanna tell you but I don't know how

 

I'm only honest when it rains

an open book with a torn out page and my ink's run out

I wanna love you but I don't know how

 

I don't know how

I wanna tell you but I don't know how

No, I don't know how

I wanna love you but I don't know how

 

I don't know how...

 


	12. Save Me

_"Josh. Open the door. I know you're in there."_

_There's no answer. The silence screams at her, clawing at her insides and twisting them painfully._

_It's too loud, too heavy, too... **ominous.**_

_"Joshua Benjamin Washington, open this damn **door!** " She's pounding on it now, kicking it, glaring at it. She is getting into that room today or so help her God. He's been locked up in there for three days, and now her patience has come to an end. If he doesn't open that **freaking** door right  **freaking** now she has every intention of going full-on Jack Nicholson on his ass._

_"Fine. **Fine.** You know what? I'm gonna go find an axe and chop this stupid thing to firewood and then  **you** explain to the parental units why your room looks like a motherflippin' war zone!" _

_Silence._

_More silence._

_Even more silence. And then..._

**_Click._ **

_She yanks the door open before he can change his mind, breath already drawn in preparation for the angry rant of righteous fury she intends to rain down upon him, but when her eyes register the broken, wounded wreck of a person before her, every word gets stuck in her throat._

_His dark hair looks messy and disheveled, deep purple bruises decorating the skin around his eyes. There are claw marks on his cheek, his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen and his lips are bitten and torn to absolute shreds. His skin is pale, his cheeks sunken. Hollow. He hasn't been eating, that much is obvious. Hell, he probably hasn't been sleeping much, either._

_If at all._

_"God, Josh..." she whispers. He doesn't say anything, just turns around and retreats back into his room. At least he doesn't shut the door on her, so she follows him to the edge of the bed and sits down on the floor next to him. He pulls his legs up against his chest and wraps his arms around his knees, curling in on himself. He feels so far away, and she doesn't know how to reach him._

_But she's damn well going to try._

_"I like what you've done with the place," she comments, taking in the cosmic chaos that is his bedroom. The sheets have been torn from his bed and thrown on the floor, bunched up and made into some sort of impromptu campsite. The closet doors are open, clothes scattered everywhere. The curtains have been drawn, blocking out the sunlight entirely. It's freezing despite the warm summer weather outside, and Sam shivers. She rubs her hands up and down her naked arms, attempting to stay warm._

_"You cold?" he asks, voice cracked and broken. She startles, not expecting him to actually say anything. "Yeah, a little," she admits."If I'd known you were trying to reenact the Donner Party I would've brought my snowsuit."_

_He gives a short, hoarse laugh and grabs something from the bed, handing it to her. It's a black hoodie - his favorite - and she gratefully accepts. The fabric is soft and smells so much like him that it takes every ounce of willpower she has to resist the urge to bury her face in it and inhaling deeply._

**_Don't be a creeper, Sam. Seriously._ **

_He gives her a side-eyed look. "What?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. Did she put it on the wrong way? No. No, she did not. She specifically remembers feeling the slight brush of the patch in the back of her neck. So why is he looking at her like that? Oh dear god, did he actually somehow manage to read her creepy hoodie-sniffing thoughts?!_

_" **What."** she repeats, demanding an answer. He gives his head a slight shake, but she doesn't relent. "Joshua. Explain the look. **Now**." She pokes him in the side, and a pang of worry shoots through her when she hits nothing but bone and muscle.  **God, he's so thin...**  _

_"Y'look like a midget," he finally replies. She blinks up at him, confused. Then she frowns. "Wha? Hey! Is that a dig at my height? Are you calling me short?"_

_"If you gotta ask..."_

_"I'll have you know I am **not** short, thank you very much! I'm... I'm just... I'm just  **vertically impaired** , okay?" she huffs. A tiny smirk ghosts across his lips and he shrugs, eyes drifting across the room._

_"Yeah, sure. Okay, Sammy."_

**_No. No, Josh, don't do that. Don't you dare shut me out again. Not this time._ **

_She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the impossibly terrifying thing she's about to do, and grabs his hand. He looks down at her, surprise evident in his dark eyes. She laces their fingers together, studying his broken nails and bruised knuckles._

_"Talk to me, Josh," she whispers, pleadingly. "Just talk to me, okay? I... we're all worried..."_ _His_ _face seems to close off again, taking him further away from her, and she curses herself inwardly. She knows damn well that she won't be able to break that infuriating mask of indifference once it's back in place, and she's not having it._

_Not even a little._

_**Don't be such a damn coward, Sam! Jesus. Just say it. Just say what you're thinking for once in your miserable freaking life.** _

_She gives his hand a slight squeeze, locking eyes with him again. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, but she ignores it. She has to say this, she has to make him understand. She has to show him that she's not there because she feels obligated to. Not just because Hannah was her best friend. Not just because she feels so guilty she wants to die. Not because he's the only one she's got left._

_She's there for_   _ **him.** Because she  **cares** about him. _

_" **I'm** worried about you, okay?"_

_She rubs her thumb across his broken skin, swallowing hard. What did he even **do**? Punch a damn **wall**? Knowing Josh, that's exactly what he did. He punched a damn wall. _

_Violently._

_Repeatedly._

_"Want me to get you a punching bag?" she says, attempting to lighten the mood a little. "We could string it up... well..." She studies every nook and cranny of the chaotic space, frowning. "... anywhere, I guess? Dude, your room is bigger than my entire house."_

_"D'you just say 'dude'?" Josh asks, smirking. She narrows her eyes at him. "Yes. Yes, I did. If it offends you then feel free to type out a written complaint and drop it in Kyle Braedan's mailbox. He's a bad influence."_

_Josh shifts, jaw clenching for a second before relaxing again, and it's such an odd reaction she can't help but stare at him, quizzically._

_"What?" she questions, almost not expecting him to reply. But he does._

_"You hang out with him a lot, 's all."_

_"Well... I mean, yeah? He's my chem lab partner. We sort of have to. It's kinda hard to get any work done if you don't, ya know, **talk**." _

_"Mmmhmm." His eyes drift across the room again, and she feels the wall between them growing thicker. Heavier. God, why is she so incompetent at reaching out to him? Why does she suck so badly at this? Does she just always say the wrong thing or what? She just wants to connect with him! She just wants him to know that she's there, to confide in her and mourn with her and know that he's not alone, that she feels the pain and the loss and the sorrow and the heartache just as much as he does, because she lost her sisters, too._

_They both lost two of the most important people in their lives on that damn mountain and she **needs** him to **stay** , she needs him to **be** with her and just **grieve** and open **up** to her and **God**! Why won't he just freaking  **let her in already!**_

_And then he does._

_"They..." Josh licks his lips, hesitating. His fingers tear at the frayed edges of his pajama bottoms. "They called off the search, Sammy. Gave up. Just like that. Just like... like... like they never, god, like they n-never fucking... fucking mattered and..." He takes a deep breath, shaking. "How... how could they just... how can they do that, Sam? **How?** " He's looking at her now, eyes wide and desperate._

_"Why? Why! It-it's not even been a year, and they... they could be alive? Right? Sam? Sammy?" Josh stares at her, begging her to agree with him. **Please!** his eyes are screaming at her.  **Please tell me I'm right! Please...**_

_"Yeah," she whispers, though deep down she knows better. If Hannah and Beth were alive, they would've been found by now. But there's no way in hell she's going to tell him that, not when he's breaking into pieces right in front of her._

_No way._

_"Yeah, I mean, they... they haven't found their..." Sam halts, hesitating. No. She can't say it. She can't bring herself to say the word. It's too painful to even think about._

_"I mean, we don't know for sure that they're not alive," she finally says, clutching his hand tightly. "There's no evidence telling us they're not, right?"_

_"Right! Yeah! I-I mean... I mean... t-they..." He's tearing at his hair, frantically clawing at his skin with his free hand. She takes it and keeps it locked in her own, preventing him from doing even more damage to himself. His cheek is already bleeding from old scratches being reopened, and his bottom lip is bleeding from the abuse as he bites down on it repeatedly, muttering to himself. It hurts to see him like this, so fragile and broken, but she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to help him._

_She has never felt so powerless in her entire life._

_"Josh..." her voice cracks, and he looks at her. His wild, manic eyes trace the features of her face with almost burning intensity. She doesn't know what he sees but whatever it is, it gives him pause. He gently frees his right hand and tentatively brushes his thumb across her cheek, wiping away tears she's not even aware of. Her throat feels all too tight, and she wants to say more but she can't. She's choking on her sobs and her body is shivering so bad she feels like she's got a fever._

_"Sammy," he whispers, his eyes mirroring every emotion she's feeling inside of her, and then he's hugging her. Carefully at first, and then all together; his arms desperately crushing her against him and his own sobs muffled against her hair, nails digging into her shoulder blades. The physical pain doesn't even register with her, doesn't even come close to the overwhelming sense of loss and hopelessness inside of her._

**_I love this boy,_  ** _Sam_   _thinks and hugs him just as tightly in return, her face buried in the crook of his neck while his body is wrecked with violent, heartbreaking sobs. Each one tears into her like a knife, twisting and turning until she can barely breathe._

_**I love this broken, fragile mess more than I can stand.** _

_She doesn't even think. She doesn't hesitate. She lifts herself up and closes the distance between them, kissing him fervently. She just needs to feel something - feel **anything** \- anything but this crushing, devastating void inside of her, and she needs to fill it with something... anything... _

_Josh freezes in place, and she's not even sure whether or not he's even breathing anymore. She looks up into those huge eyes, and they're practically bugging out at her, bigger and wider and darker than she's ever seen them before. She's just starting to regret her actions when he curses under his breath and clutches her shoulder hard, pulling her back into him._

_It's not a tender kiss._

_It's sharp. Biting. Desperate._ _His lips are chapped and broken. They taste like blood and cigarettes. But she doesn't care. She just wants him to hold her closer. Tighter. She wants him to crush her against him until their bodies merge together and leave them as one single entity._

_Her fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, tearing at it impatiently. She wants it **gone.** She wants it to just stop existing, to stop creating barriers between them. She's had enough of these freaking barriers. _

_She wants them all gone._

_"Sam... fuck, just..." He tries to slow her down, but she's having none of it. She wants every piece of clothing on this boy to disintegrate and never come back. All these walls and barriers and masks he's constantly hiding behind - they all need to just **get. the fuck. out.**_

_Josh pulls back, taking her hands and gently pressing them against the floor, pinning her down. His eyes are searching her face for something, but all she can see is how swollen his lips are and how his half-open shirt is exposing his sharp collarbones. He's all angles and shadows and bruises, but he's so beautiful it makes her want to cry all over again._

_"Please," she whispers. "Josh, please..."_

_That's all it takes for him to break, and his lips crash back down onto hers with renewed vigor, devouring her. She digs her nails into his back, pressing against him._

_**No more walls** , Sam thinks as she tears at his shirt again, and this time he's helping her. He throws it haphazardly into a corner and surges down to kiss her again before she has time to fully register how emaciated he looks. _

_But she can feel it._

_She can feel every ridge and every valley of his spine under his skin, and her heart aches with every touch. **Oh, God... oh, God...** She pulls away and looks up at him, sympathy and worry etched into her features. _

_"Sam?" he whispers. She bites her lip and looks away, suddenly aware and ashamed of her actions. "Josh, I..." Her eyes spot a bunch of empy liquor bottles under his bed and she pauses, frowning._

_"Have you been drinking?"_

_Josh follows her gaze, and he sighs. His muscles strain as he gets off her and throws his bedspread over the mattress, hiding the evidence._

_"Nope," he says, capturing her face in his hands and kissing her again, hungry and impatient. "Josh, you're... you've been drinking. We shouldn't be doing this," Sam says, pushing gently against his chest. "It's... I'm sorry. It's not..." she pauses, biting her lip. She almost tells him she shouldn't have done that, but after so many times of literally shoving her foot in her mouth with him, she knows that's the worst thing she can say right now._

_"I think we should... wait," she begins, carefully selecting each word to minimize the damage as much as possible. "We're both pretty messed up right now, and I just..." He interrupts her with a short, bitter laugh and gets to his feet, jaw clenched. His face is completely unreadable. He's closing himself off again, and this time it feels intentional._

_It hurts. God, it hurts._

_"Yeah, sure. Okay, Sammy," he drones, not even really looking at her anymore. "I get it."_

_No. No, he doesn't. He definitely doesn't get it. That much is obvious. He doesn't get it at all. And she wants to tell him that. She wants to tell him that **so** badly, but she also knows him well enough to recognize the look of someone who either can't or doesn't want to be reasoned with._

_He picks up his shirt and yanks it back over his head, movements choppy and abrupt. She stands up and walks towards him, slowly, like she's approaching a wounded animal. He jerks when she puts her hand on his arm, but at least he doesn't push her away._

_"Josh," she says, softly. "I know what you're thinking and it's not true, okay? But with Hannah and Beth being..." she catches herself before she says 'dead' and mentally pats her own back. "... with them being **missing**... we're both messed up, right? We're not exactly one hundred percent stable, shall we say, and... and we should be. At least sixty to seventy-five percent."_

_He laughs again, this time it's more genuine but still carries an edge to it. "If y'wanna wait for me to be **stable,** Sammy, you'll die a virgin."_

_"Harr-di-harr, Joshua." She rolls her eyes and punches his shoulder lightly, trying her best to salvage this complete and utter wreck of a situation. "Hey, you big asshole. Turn around and give me a hug before I start searching for some juicy blackmail material in this dump you call a bedroom."_

_"I'll sic my lawyers on you, James. Perks of having a rich daddy," he says drily, but he still wraps her in his arms and rests his chin on top of her head, breathing shakily. She smiles and closes her eyes, savoring the feeling for as long as she can._

_"Bring it, Washington."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaven and Hell, my friend, my friend
> 
> I won't fit in here, everything must end
> 
> Hello, from the dark side end
> 
> does anybody here wanna be my friend
> 
> I just want it all to end
> 
> tell me when the fuck is it all gonna end
> 
> voices in my head, screaming yelling
> 
> telling me I'm gonna end up dead
> 
> so please save me
> 
> save me
> 
> save me before I fall
> 
> save me
> 
> save me
> 
> save me from myself 
> 
> save me
> 
> save me
> 
> get me the hell away from it all
> 
> just save me
> 
> save me
> 
> save me


	13. Fragile With Me

"It was..." Matt sighs, tiredly rubbing his hand over his eyes before continuing.

"It was everything. Just... _everything_. All of it. The fights, the drama, the belittling..." 

"Matt..." Jess takes his hand and rubs her thumb gently over a fading scar running across his knuckles. He smiles briefly and continues, voice low and steady.

"I'm a pretty patient guy, but, even I have my limits. And let me tell ya, Emily sure knew how to push _every. single._ _one_ of 'em."

Sam wants to laugh at this, but she doesn't. Matt didn't make fun of her for temporarily turning into some kind of flower-wielding lunatic out there in the hallway, and she's not going to make fun of him now. Sure, everyone knew what kind of person Emily was. Anyone and their damn  _grandmother_ could've taken one look at this gentle, patient boy and declared in no uncertain terms how much of a freakin' train wreck their relationship would be. 

Surely, somewhere deep down, Matt already knew this. No point in rubbing salt in the proverbial wound.

Matt seems to know exactly what she's thinking, those deep brown eyes staring steadily into her own. "I mean, sure. I knew this before I started dating her. I knew what she was like, man. Not gonna lie and say I didn't. I guess I was just stupid enough - or arrogant enough - to think she'd be different with me. Sometimes she was... alright, y'know? Like, actually  _cool._ "

Sam can tell Jessica wants to shoot off some snide remark, but thankfully she settles for an impressive full body eye roll and a slight  _huff_ instead. 

"I knew she was just hangin' out with me to get a rise out of Mike, and yeah, that sucked. But we did have genuine moments so I guess I kinda just decided to focus on those and take whatever I could get because hey, I actually liked her. But then..." he pauses, the muscles in his jaw working as he considers what to say next.

"All the jealousy and fightin' with Jess at the cabin, and later finding out from Ashley that she was actually flirting with _him_ instead of going to find  _you-"_ he looks at Sam, annoyance clear in his expression. Sam bites her lip, feeling irrationally guilty about this revelation. But why? It's not like she actually had anything to do with whatever ridiculous potential two-timing plan Emily decided to set into motion, after all.

 _Come **on** , Samantha_, she tells herself, exasperated. _You had nothing to do with it. Stop feeling guilty over something you didn't even know about, for Pete's sake._

"That was it. I was going to step up and stop being such a dude-shaped doormat and just... just  _confront_ her about it, and goin' to get her stupid bag was the perfect opportunity for me to do it, but then we actually had... _fun_. We were jokin', and flirting, and she didn't even talk down to me..." 

Jessica raises an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles.

"... _that_ much," he adds. "And I thought, 'hey, maybe this can turn out to be a pretty chill weekend after all!' so I just... left it. Like, whatever, you know?" Matt drums his fingers restlessly against his leg, the sole of his foot tapping rapidly. He seems guarded, on edge, and Sam knows that feeling. 

Holy shit, does she know it.

The urge to move around, the inability to focus on anything for more than a couple of seconds and that overwhelming sense that something dark and twisted is going to jump out at her from every nook and cranny within a fifty mile radius. It's what she's been feeling every day since they left that damn mountain, and her jittery behavior is really starting to take a toll on her mental faculties. Sam finds herself checking every inch of the dimly lit hospital room with paranoid urgency, and she wants to laugh out loud at her own stupidity. 

 _Jesus Christ, woman. Get it together._ She unclenches her jaw and cracks her neck from side to side, shaking her fists discreetly at her sides as Matt goes on, his words sounding strangely muffled all of a sudden, like he's talking under water. She resists the urge to tilt her head and smack the side of her head and finds herself staring intently at his lips, trying to decipher the words being shaped between them.

"It was good. For a while, anyway. I mean, there was the occasional jump scare along the way, but nothing too major. We got crowded by some crazy-ass deer on the way and almost fell off a cliff but, whatever. Just more mountainy weirdness. Nothing new there, I guess." Matt laughs, but there's an edge to it. 

"Then there was that _damn_ fire tower. We climbed the stupid thing like a couple of morons so we could use the radio and finally get some help, and then... then I don't really know what happened. One minute there's a dude on the other end tellin' us to wait until dawn, and I hear this freaky sort of... _screech_? _Howl_? I don't even... I don't even know, man, it just... it sounded freakin'  _wrong._ Not natural, y'know? So I hear that, and suddenly everything just goes to shit..." Matt shakes his head and frowns, feet tapping intermittently against the white floor tiles.

Jessica says something to him and gently cradles his face in her hands, but their words don't register in her mind.

Sam isn't listening anymore.

It's as if she's completely forgotten how to speak and understand English, the language sounding odd and foreign in her ears as the human voices turn into piercing, bloodcurdling shrieks echoing in her mind, bouncing off the walls around her and drowning out everything else. Sam shivers as a phantom chill runs through her, freezing the blood in her veins and putting every nerve in her body in edge.

She's not in the hospital anymore. She's in a deep, dark place with dripping walls and rotting bodies. The intense stench of death and decay surrounding her makes her stomach turn violently. There's a sense of dread in the air, and she knows she's being watched.

Like a deer catching the scent of a hunter.

She feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and the cavernous mines seem to shrink. She's pushed forward against her own will, the bloody walls closing in on her on both sides, threatening to crush her to dust between them. Her fingernails claw desperately against the unyielding stone, desperately seeking purchase as she's being pulled forward rapidly through the continuously narrow space.

And then she stops.

She's in a small cave, no bigger than her bedroom. Actually, it  _is_ her bedroom, or some kind of twisted version of it. 

Her desk is made up of rotting floorboards balanced between two big rocks, and there's a strangely familiar chair pushed up against it. A figure sits hunched in it, head bent forward at an awkward angle, and Sam struggles to breathe. 

It's  _her._

There's her blonde hair, now hanging loosely down her back in long, stringy knots. There's her leather jacket, and her plaid skirt. The very same outfit she wore on the mountain. The very same outfit Josh took from the bathroom when she was forced to navigate the hellish balloon maze in nothing but a tiny, flimsy towel.

_The very same outfit worn by the creepy ass dummy in the basement of the old hotel._

"Saaaa-mmyyy..." The eerie, almost playful calling of her name makes her jump, but her body stays frozen. She wants to run, but her feet stay rooted to the spot. Against her own will she's forced to watch helplessly as her arm moves at its own accord, fingers clutching the back of the chair and turning it towards her, its movements painfully slow. 

The rusted joints creak as the chair moves. Sam feels lightheaded from holding her breath but her lungs won't obey her, they scream out in desperate need for air, and her head is throbbing like someone just roundhouse kicked her with a cinder block shoe. 

_Creeeeaaaaaak..._

The noise sounds almost deafening in the small cave, and she wants to stop.

She _needs_ to stop.

But still she keeps going.

 _I don't want to see it. I don't want to see this. I don't want to be here. Please, someone, please just **get me out of here!**_  

The dummy slowly raises its head, a nightmare creature made from rotting flesh and moldy stuffing, the leathery skin stretching all too tightly as it smiles, writhing maggots falling from the cracks. Sam opens her mouth and screams, but not a sound comes out. 

_**"Welcome home, Sammy-bird."** _

Her body is twisted around as a clawed hand digs into her shoulder, and there stands Josh. Taller and skinnier than ever, his face looking gaunt and hauntingly terrifying. His lips are chapped and broken, jagged teeth cutting into them and slashing across his left cheek, opening further and further until both his cheeks are torn open and the smile keeps stretching wider and wider.

 _ **"I missed you,"**_ he whispers before his ruined lips claim hers, his razor teeth destroying her mouth as he devours her. 

 

**_"Sammy..."_ **

 

_"Sam?"_

 

 **"Sam!"**  

 

 

Her eyes tear open, and she's staring at the ceiling. Or, well, she should have been, if it weren't for the two pairs of concerned eyes and confused faces covering her entire field of view.

"Holy shit! Holy shit holy crap holy shit! Jesus, Sam, you scared the ever living  _crap_ out of us!" Jessica pulls her into a ferocious hug, not caring one bit about the needle still stuck in her hand or the fact that she's still wearing that flimsy hospital gown.

"You really went lights out there for a while, Sam," Matt says, trying to smile but failing spectacularly. "Do you need me to, like... shit, I dunno, get a doctor or somethin'?"

 "A doctor? Great plan, doofus," Jess replies, her blue eyes rolling practically all the way out of their damn sockets.

"Do you want them to lock her up at some loony bin? She's probably just got low blood sugar or something! Right?" Her eyes lock on Sam, and Sam just nods gratefully. She certainly doesn't need the good Doctor Alan Hill running the door down and giving her a damn lecture on top of everything.

"I dunno, Jess, that was..."

"Matt, just, please get her some water or a soda or something, okay? _Please_."

"... Okay, yeah. Sure thing, babe." He kisses her on the forehead and rises from the floor, hesitating for a second. His dark eyes lock on Sam's, and she raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"I'll get you a sandwich too, okay? You gotta eat somethin', you don't look good."

Sam smirks, appreciating his concern but still unable to resist a tiny dig at him. "Gee. Thanks, dad. And here I was thinking partially comatose was a particularly good look for me."

He laughs.

"Yeah, I... don't know about that. I'd keep tryin'."

"Just go fetch us some calories, okay? Jeez!" Jessica hits him playfully with a pillow and rolls her eyes at Sam. 

"Fine, fine. I surrender!" Matt shakes his head and leaves, though Sam swears she can hear him muttering about violent women and ridiculous weapons of choice before the door closes behind him.

"I adore the guy, but sometimes I wish he'd just do as he's told and be done with it. Anyway, giddy up, girl!" Jessica pulls Sam off the floor and pushes her into Matt's chair. "You just sit there and get some color back in your face before Mr. Worrywart comes back, 'kay? If you keep cosplaying Casper the Fainting Ghost he might change his mind about Head Shrinking McGee after all."

Sam gives her a salute and grins. "Yes, ma'am."

"Attagirl." 

The older blonde pulls out a box of neatly wrapped chocolates and shoves a truffle against Sam's lips. "Here. Chocolate. Yummy yummy calories, amirite? If it works for Harry Potter, then it works for us."

"Wha..." Sam doesn't get to finish the sentence before the chocolate fills her mouth. It's rich and sweet, but her stomach still feels queasy from the experience and makes it hard to swallow. Jessica puts away the box and tilts her head, blue eyes watching her carefully.

"You went all Catherine Catatonic on us there, you know? It was freaky as shit!" 

"I'm sorry," Sam says when she finally manages to force the chocolate down her throat. It goes down about as well as a medium sized rock, but she manages to fight off the urge to spit it back out.

"It's... probably just low blood sugar, like you said. I haven't been eating a lot recently."

"Not sleeping a lot either, by the looks of it."

"Nope."

Jessica looks at her for a long time, and it seems like she wants to question her further, but thankfully she doesn't. Instead she grabs her hand and squeezes it gently. "Look, Sam... I know we haven't exactly been, like... BFF's, or anything, but... Mike told me what happened down in the basement. He said you asked about me, that you were concerned for me, and I just... well... thank you. Really. That was really sweet of you."

Sam smiles, a warm feeling spreading in her stomach. 

"Don't mention it."

"No, Sam. I mean it. I've given you so much shit about your morals, and your diet, and your tree-hugging "let's all be friends"-attitude, and I flirted shamelessly with Josh, like, all the time... God... I'm just, I've been a bitch to you, and I'm sorry. You never deserved being treated like that. I guess, I just knew that Mike always had a thing for you, and I know you never made a move on him, and I know that I'm like the biggest hypocrite in the entire damn world for saying this and I'll probably die a horrible karmic death..." 

"Hey, Jess. Chill, okay? It's fine. I get it."

Blue eyes meet hazel, and they both smile. "You knooow..." Jessica says, her smile growing alarmingly wide. "For what it's worth, I think you make a good couple. You and Mike, I mean. You always had way too much damn chemistry anyway, it was bound to happen one way or another."

"What?" Sam looks at her, incredulous. "Wait, no, Mike and I aren't..." 

"Oh, come  _on!_ Why do you think I always gave you all that crap? Even a freaking cyclops with one functioning brain cell and a cathartic eye can see that you two are ridiculously good together! I know he used to be kind of a giant dick, but hey. People change. I mean, who would've thought you and I would be sitting here talking about boys and braiding each other's hair?"

Sam smirks at this, raising an eyebrow at her. "Oh, really? I see no braids."

Jessica laughs and grabs the hairbrush from her bedside table. "Well, let's fix that, then. Undo that godforsaken bun and let's give you a proper hairstyle for once!" 

_Dear Lord. I have created a monster._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one knows the trouble I've become
> 
> or how I’ve always been a little bit undone
> 
> breaking down and letting go
> 
> please don’t leave
> 
> please don't leave me alone
> 
> dug in deep now I’ve buckled down
> 
> I must love me, this is true
> 
> before there's ever loving you
> 
> patience please
> 
> for the Hell I'm going through
> 
> please don't leave
> 
> leave me here without you


	14. Staying Up

"Hello again, Samantha."

Sam doesn't reply. Her tired, bloodshot eyes stare blankly out the window, looking but not really seeing. She doesn't even bother trying to hide her insomnia anymore, making the purple bruises practically shine against her pale skin. What are they going to do, anyway? Throw her in the loony bin for looking like something straight out of one of those damn Romero-flicks Josh used to be into? 

_Yeah. Right._

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Dr. Hill folds his hands together and place them on his desk, undeterred by her unresponsiveness. Nothing ever rattles him, and that annoys her. It annoys her more than anything has ever annoyed her in her entire life, and that includes listening to Emily talk about handbags for three hours straight.

Just  _once_ she would like to watch the good doctor squirm. Seriously, is that so much to ask for?

" _Hello,_  Samantha," he repeats, calm and composed as ever.

God. Why must she suffer this way. Being here, in this abnormally tidy office with this abnormally creepy human being is  _not_ how she wants to spend her Friday afternoon. And yet, here she is. Sitting in the same chair. Staring out the same window. Listening to the same voice she's been hearing regularly for much too long.

She is so sick and tired of it, she wants to scream.

"Hello,  _Dr. Hill,"_ she finally replies, every syllable practically dripping with sarcasm. He raises an eyebrow at her, openly expressing his nonchalance at her tone. 

"Well. Not the most enthusiastic greeting, granted, but we can work on that," he says, scribbling something down on his notepad before looking back up at her. "So, how have you been since our last session?"

"Fine."

The word falls so easily from her lips, she doesn't even have to think about it anymore.

"Samantha, we have been over this. Repeatedly. If you're not honest with me..."

"I said, I'm  _fine,_ " she snaps at him, eyes narrowed into thin, hazel colored slits. The lack of sleep is really shortening her patience, and she starts tapping her feet restlessly against the floor. "Can we please move on now?" She stifles a yawn with her hand, wishing desperately for the session to be over so she can return to her room and hopefully pass out for a few hours. Maybe, if she just really works at it, he'll let her off early.

The thought makes her want to laugh. The esteemed Doctor Alan Joseph Hill, ending a therapy session early because she's  _tired?_ The same guy who told her to soldier through despite being practically on her freaking deathbed with pneumonia? 

_Not bloody likely, girl._

Dr. Hill stands up from his chair, fixing her with his unsettling gaze as he grabs her chin and studies her, not caring one iota about the fact that he is being  _exceptionally_ unprofessional. Not that she's claiming to be an expert or anything, but she's pretty sure he's not supposed to manhandle his ~~victims~~ patients in such brutish fashion.

Really. She could probably sue him for... something. 

 _Note to self, Sammy,_ she thinks drily.  _Research legal actions and punishments against invasion of personal space._

"You haven't been sleeping," Alan Hill notes, turning her head this way and that. He tuts over her glorious eye bags before returning to his seat, ignoring her sarcastic eye roll and taunting smirk.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. How'd you manage that deduction? Brilliant detective work, I must say. I can definitely understand why you're top tier around here. _Bravo_."

He raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed by her attitude. "Deflection, sarcasm, humor... they're all fine and well on their own, but inherently crippling as a defense mechanism, Samantha."

"Yeah?" She tilts her head at him, giving him her best 'could not care less'-expression.

"Yes," he simply replies, colorless eyes not giving her one second's worth of peace. "So let's, ah... what is it that you young people like to say so...  _eloquently..."_ He pretends to think for a bit before snapping his fingers like he just solved the damn Antikythera mechanism. Honestly, she's surprised he doesn't jump up from his seat and shout ' _eureka!'_ at the top of his freaking lungs while he's at it. Y'know, just to be even  _more_ obnoxious.

"Let's  _cut the crap,_ shall we?"

"Sure thing, Doc." She smirks at him, leaning forward in her chair. "I'm positively  _shaking_ with anticipation. So, let's hear it, then. Tell me how you're going to fix my head with your fancy big boy-words. God knows you couldn't fix Josh, so I mean, it's not like you've got the best track record in the world, but..." Sam shrugs, returning to her previous position.

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day, isn't that how the saying goes?"

"Your glibness does you no credit, Samantha."

 _I'll show you where you can stuff your **glibness,** you arrogant... _She just looks at him and yawns, not even bothering to cover her mouth this time. Quite the opposite, in fact. She stretches her jaws so wide she could probably swallow his head if she tried.

Dr. Hill writes something down in his precious little book and tuts to himself, quietly mumbling something between sentences. Most of it is indecipherable, even when she leans ever so discreetly closer to him, but some of the words stand out to her.

Words like " _disrespectful_ ", " _dosage_ " and " _regression,_ " amongst others. Well, isn't that lovely.

"So," he finally says, clicking his pen and putting it carefully back in its place. "You mentioned Joshua earlier, correct?"

_No. Nope. Nu-uh. No way._

The last thing she wants to do is talk about Josh right now, especially with  _him_ of all cursed people. The very same man who gave Josh the wrong medication, the very same man who... 

_No. Stop it, Sam. Don't go there. Not now._

"Let's talk about that for a moment," Dr. Hill continues, completely disregarding the warning look on her face. "When you first came to see me, you were plagued by nightmares. Hallucinations. Paranoia. Severe PTSD. This is completely understandable, considering everything you have experienced in such a short amount of time. I understand you were very... close... with the twins, and with Josh.Losing both Hannah and Bethany Washington simultaneously in such a horrible fashion, and then exactly one year later Joshua, all three deaths happening on Blackwood Mountain..."

For some reason, hearing the proper name of the mountain sends a violent chill down her spine. 

It sounds too creepy, too  _ominous._  Like something ancient and powerful beyond human understanding, a place where spirits roam free and turn perfectly normal human beings into urban legends. She much prefers it when people refer to it as Mount Washington, if they have to talk about it. It sounds a little more normal, more mundane. It feels like a completely different place.

_Mount Washington._

She remembers everything about it. The cold, crisp mountain air, the feeling of seclusion, of complete isolation. The howling of the wind blowing through the snow-covered trees at night, the crackling of a warm fireplace and the taste of hot chocolate after playing outside for hours... It used to be such a wonderful memory. 

It used to be her happy place. 

Much like the spirit of the Wendigo, Blackwood Mountain had possessed her beloved Mount Washington. Twisted it and corrupted it and turned it into a nightmarish version of itself.

"Did you know... what he was going to do?" Sam whispers, not sure whether she's asking Dr. Hill or herself.

"Pardon?"

She looks at him, hands clenched tightly at her sides. She doesn't want to talk about it, but she has to know. She  _needs_ to know. She needs to feel closer to Josh - the  _broken_ Josh - to understand why he did what he did. Why he pulled such a horrible, traumatizing stunt with them. Why he did what he did. Why - instead of opening up about his problems - he chose to punish them instead.

Punish _her._

Why did he target her? What did she _do_? Was it because she let him down the year before, with Hannah? Did he want revenge because Sam failed to keep her from running off that night? Because instead of going to find her, she should've stayed put outside the bedroom door to intercept her best friend and stop her from going inside? Stop everything from spiraling out of control? Because if she did manage to stop Hannah, Beth would've never gone after her and ended up dying in the mines? They would've finished their vacation, gone home, and everyone would still be safe and alive.

She could have stopped it all. Is that why he did it? Is that why he hated her so much? Because she was the reason why his sisters died? Because she failed them all? 

 _I already knew that, Josh,_ she thinks to herself, the familiar sense of blame and helplessness threatening to choke her.  _I already knew I messed up, and I'm still punishing myself for it every single day._

"Samantha?" Dr. Hill raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue.

And she does.

"Did you know about his plan? Before the... before everything?" She remembers the text messages, the mentioning of an e-mail from Josh where he let Dr. Hill in on his plan, but how old was that e-mail? When did he send it? Before he left for the mountain, or after? If it was before, why didn't the doctor do anything to prevent it? Even if it was after, he still could have done something. He could have alerted someone, tried to stop Josh before he could go through with it. He could have done  _something!_

"I did know... some of it," Dr. Hill finally admits, folding his hands together and studying his thumbs before continuing. "I knew he was planning something, some sort of... childish revenge scheme, but I didn't know the extent of it. Not until I received the e-mail you mentioned in one of our earlier sessions. In fact, I do believe that is the first time a patient has ever struck me."

Wait, what? Did she hit him? No, she didn't... wait. Oh. Yes.

She  _did_ do that. 

"Even if you didn't know everything, why didn't you tell someone? Why didn't you warn anyone? His parents, hell, you could've given  _us_ a little head's up about how maybe going to some secluded mountain in the middle of bumfuck nowhere with someone who wanted to hurt us wasn't the best freaking idea in the entire world, and yet you did nothing! You just sat there with your thumbs up your ass, and we went through hell because of it! Josh is  _dead_ because of it!"

She doesn't even register that she's standing up before she's charging at his desk, slamming her palms down onto it with enough force to cause what probably looks like complete and utter mayhem in his eyes, meaning she manages to send exactly three of his pencils clattering to the floor. 

Well. That just won't do.

"Why the  _fuck_ didn't you do anything to help us?!" Sam swipes her arm across the polished marble surface, effectively sending his coffee mug flying. It hits the wall with a sharp crack, but doesn't break.

Oh, great. She can't even throw a violent tantrum properly. 

Dr. Hill sighs and starts tidying up his desk, a slight frown creasing the corners of his mouth. He doesn't say anything for a while until everything is back in order, as if her previous fit never even took place, and that  _annoys_ her.

"I think we need to reschedule, Samantha. You are clearly in no state of mind to properly continue this session, and I have no desire of seeing my entire office destroyed on a childish whim, if you don't mind. Now, I'm going to give you a temporary prescription for Zopiclone. Normally I would advise against it, but in this case I think we need to make an exception. I want you to take one right before bed, and should you experience any..."

"Yeah, yeah, I already know this part. It's not exactly my first time," Sam mumbles and accepts the piece of paper he offers her. Usually she would keep pressing the issue, but right now she really just wants to go home and stop existing for several hours. At least she knows how to leave early now, just threaten the safety of his beloved office and he'll throw her head over ass out of there.

 _Good to know._ _God... I need some serious sedatives right now,_ she thinks and cradles her head in her hands. Her migraine is killing her, there's a painful tension in her neck and a strange humming in her ears that she can't seem to get rid of. It sounds oddly familiar, but she's too busy keeping her head from exploding to pay much attention to it. 

"I do believe your phone is ringing," Dr. Hill notes after several seconds of watching her cover her ears on and off, stretching her neck and turning her head from side to side like a confused owl. 

"Wha... oh," she says, feeling exceptionally unintelligent. So that's why it sounded so freaking familiar.

She yanks her phone up from the pocket of her leather jacket, expecting her mother's picture to flash across the screen. How did she know they were finishing up early? "I swear, it's like she's got freaking surveillance cameras on..." Her voice trails off, eyes staring down at her phone. It doesn't register with her at first, but then it hits her all at once. She drops the device on the floor, screen still flashing and blinking towards her, demanding her attention. 

_It's not real. It's not real. It's just my head playing tricks on me._

_There's just no way._

She tries to swallow the lump in her throat, but her mouth is dry. Her skin is prickling, feeling too cold and too hot all at once, and it seems like all the air has been sucked from the room. Her fingernails are cutting into her flesh, opening old scars and creating deeper ones, but she doesn't even register the blood dripping down her clenched fists and onto the floor.

She's entirely too focused on the name flashing in front of her eyes.

It can't be real. But it is. 

 

**_Joshua Washington is calling._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the time I sit and try
> 
> you think I'd be tired
> 
> every night I'm sick, but why
> 
> I'm staying up this time
> 
> how can I sleep if I don't have dreams
> 
> I just have nightmares
> 
> how can it be that I still believe
> 
> something is out there

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is it. I have finally decided to throw my fragile excuse for a ship onto the horrifying Ocean of Writing. 
> 
> Gulp. 
> 
> Please refrain from murdering me. It would be highly appreciated by my loved ones, and by 'loved ones' I mean my rabbit. And maybe my fern. His name is Frank and he is very adept at being stationary.
> 
> I am such a failure at life.


End file.
